Helpless and Haunted
by umbrella warrior
Summary: Abandoned. Eventual SLASH. All it took was a routine pajama change to transform Harry James Potter from boy-who-lived into an orphan's-not-quite-imaginary-friend. Time/Dimension travel. Starts after the statue of secrecy trial in Order of the Phoenix. Psychopath!Tom
1. Chapter 1

**Update 5-30-13: A reviewer brought it to my attention that there might be some interest in adopting this fic/ this fic's plot. To any interested in adopting it: I completely welcome you to**

*** use as much (or few) of my plot ideas as you like**

***use as many, direct lines/paragraphs/quotes ect as you like**

**Just in case there is any confusion about this point: you are free to completely rewrite the beginning if you like, please don't feel like you have to go off of what I have.**

Summary: Eventual SLASH. All it took was a routine pajama change to change Harry James Potter from boy-who-lived into orphan's-not-quite-imaginary-friend. Time travel. Starts after statue of secrecy trial in Order of the Phoenix. Psychopath!Tom (although as the fic goes on, he will technically gain his own separate type of disorder despite the strong similarities it will share with psychopathy).

Disclaimer: As the title of this site strongly suggests; I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: When the slash section of this story arrives Tom and Harry will not have much of an age difference in body or mind so if you get queasy at the idea of age gaps you can stop worrying now :].

For new readers: please forgive me for the inaccurate bits with toddler!Tom. Despite having years of experience with watching toddlers, I still can't write them 100% accurately for the life of me. Hope you enjoy the story nonetheless.

The night was a wet and cold one; not appearing any different from the many nights that would and already had been in such a state. It was only the pitter-patter of rain that continually dribbled down the lone, covered window and the peaceful breaths of the toddlers that proved the world had not been pushed into oblivion by death's unyielding hand.

Only a handful of cribs lined against the small room's wall yet they all were all equally mundane —plain dark cherry wood and thin, scratchy brown sheets. Each crib was roughly the same distance from each other except for the one farthest to the left. A creative child might think the crib had feared or perhaps despised the touch of the others and thus backed as far away as it could-into the cold and dark brick wall.

It was not the type of room that was found in a cheerful place—the wall's dark, Victorian glazed bricks seemed to suck any scrap of joy into their unyielding walls. However not all was lost, for the bricks only drenched half of the room in darkness. It was about halfway up the wall that the darkness abruptly turned into light but no toddler or even child could hope to reach this lighter area without aid. It was unfortunate that not many cared to give these orphans such aid, especially those deepest in its hold.

It was in the crib that lay furthest to the left that a mess of black hair jerked away from its pillow and a young pair of lungs dared to break the calmness of the room with uneven breaths. A wind began to howl and rattle the window as if in warning to the child or perhaps, in pained premature greeting to he-who-would-soon-exist-yet-not would arrive. Indeed, if the second was its intention then the wind was correct.

It all started and ended with the same melody: a loud pop.

Metal rings screeched as an unseen force violently drove them and their pristine black curtain to the right side of their metal rod. Dark eyes jerked to the sound before being drawn downwards by an even louder sound that the ground itself seemed to make. Said sound was not a screech but a thump as if something large had been forced to the ground.

The last thing he remembered was being consumed by such amounts of pain and terror that he was certain the feelings had managed to change him, a wizard, into nothing but pain and terror itself. Harry Potter? No. He might have been that…something once but now he was only shreds of magic, bone, flesh and blood. He desperately wished he could leave his flesh behind if it would only relive him from the pain._Was this how Voldemort had felt? What was Voldemort?_ The being of pain and terror realized it didn't matter, because all that was important now was relief from the agony. It felt as if every cell of his body had been yanked apart and was slowly, excruciatingly slowly, being pieced back together.

After a few seconds**,** which he was certain lasted decades**,** his sanity clicked back into place. Harry Potter? Yes. The boy-who-lived. Yes, he was sure that was what he was, who he was. It was with relief that he noticed that he could feel his body again. Sure, his muscles twitched unpleasantly as if in the aftermath of crucio and his blood continued to languidly pool onto the white floor but he had his body and sanity back; so he was understandably giddy with happiness.

Shuddered breaths escaped from the wizard as he began to reign in the pain. The breaths quieted quickly and finally the wizard dared to crack open his eyes.

Gold metal and sand lay so close to his face that he felt he could feel himself become cross-eyed as he looked at it. Tiredly he remembered that broken shards of golden metal and sand were not meant to pierce his forehead and mix with his already clotting blood. He stared and stared at the item which sizzled and smoked until his eyes watered and the elusive word appeared—time turner. "Bugger" he said hoarsely.

Why did he have a time turner? He couldn't recall grabbing one. Panic climbed up his throat before a vague memory began to form and he calmed. _Grimmauld Place_. He had been there and preparing for bed when he found something—a time turner—in his pocket. When did it drop in his pocket? It must of happened at the ministry when he had gone with Arthur Weasley for his trial. But he didn't remember feeling anything slip into his pocket and who would give him a broken time turner? Unfortunately, no matter how deep his brows furrowed in thought, they never dug quite deep enough to find the answers he hunted.

"Hello" said a young voice laced with a mix of distrust and curiosity. Harry's body tensed at the sudden noise then relaxed._ It's not a death eater, only a kid_ he chided himself. "…Hi" Harry said with some hesitance while not moving his gaze from the smoking pile of metal. He distractedly noted that his voice seemed less hoarse.

Curiosity won out over his fear of awakening new pains so he looked up, albeit with a speed that spoke of Slytherin self-preservation rather than Gryffindor brashness. His glasses lay lopsided and so far down his nose that they could fall off at any second; so it was no surprise that his brows scrunched up with the effort of looking into the crib.

The room was too dark and his vision too poor to make out many details. The child looked around three years old and had dark, probably black, hair that was messed up by sleep. Pale skin made a starling contrast with the dark eyes which stared at him with rapt curiosity. The toddler was clearly well fed, as shown by its fat cheeks and appeared to be clear of any significant marks of a rough life. Despite being unable to make out anything else, he felt oddly certain that the toddler would grow up to be attractive.

As Harry and the toddler continued to trade curious looks, Harry realized that the child looked familiar. But he quickly disregarded his nagging curiosity as a lost and unimportant cause and thus, decided to focus on other pressing matters.

He turned his gaze back to the ground and careful pushed his body into a sitting position, wincing all the while despite the retreating pain. When he reached the desired position, he closed his eyes in bliss; fully enjoying how his body sagged with relief at the lessening twinges of agony.

_There's no use in panicking... I have to think of a plan_._ First, I need to try to find out where and how many hours back I am._ He scanned his surrounding but unfortunately found nothing but cribs disturbing the dark and light pattern of the room. He frowned at the barren light portion of the wall above the cribs before deciding he would have to postpone his search for a clock_._ What should he do now; Harry nearly wondered aloud. He wracked his weary brain, trying to think logically. He could disguise himself and go somewhere safer. But where to? After a moment of consideration he decided the best plan of action was to take the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron. But what would he do after arriving?

Then a sudden thought hit him like a bludger. _Dumbledore_. _Dumbledore will know what to do. He knows everything._ He would pen a note at the Leaky Cauldron and owl it to the headmaster. He grinned at his plan. If a clock had been in the room, only a few tick-tocks would have passed before the grin crumbled. As Harry thought back to his recent memory of the old the memory of Dumbledore, he recalled the way the headmaster had avoided his gaze at the trial earlier that day. Why did he do that? Was there something that Harry had done to receive the man's cold shoulder? His heart clenched. Why didn't the headmaster talk to him; to explain why he was being treated like a delinquent child? The embers of the anger he felt towards the headmaster during the summer began to warm.

Then another sudden thought gave him pause. The headmaster must have talked with him at the Leaky Cauldron before the trial or at least received his owl. Could that be the key to why Dumbledore was ignoring him? Did the headmaster think he was lying when he would say that he did not purposely go back in time? Harry could hear his heart plop into his stomach at the thought. Why would the headmaster not believe him? Any remnants of anger he felt towards the headmaster curled and shriveled into personal hurt. Suddenly the young wizard wished he could do anything but meet with the headmaster.

Harry quickly chastised himself for having such childish thoughts; surely, the headmaster could have other reasons for his actions at the trial. He began to shake his head in an effort to clear away any evidence of said thoughts before something else managed to clear them with startling success—his scar burning. It's sudden and horrible existence made him cry out in surprise. Distantly he noted that the pain was much less severe than normal, but panic invaded before the thought could take hold.

The terror was so great that it covered any agony he felt from suddenly darting to his feet. White breath puffed from his mouth like smoke as his heart pounded in his ears and his knobby knees trembled with the desire to submit to gravity. Bloodied fingers pushed up his glasses before they began to search for his wand with the grace of a drunk. Meanwhile, his green eyes jerkily moved around the room. Success, his hand gripped his wand and he swallowed. His heart calmed slightly.

If he hadn't known better he would have considered himself the only wizard in the room. No piece of clothing shifted besides his own and no breath whitened the air except for his and the toddlers. When his green eyes met the mystery child, its pout faded into a smile and the pain in his scar faded into an almost pleasant tingling. Bewildered, Harry continued to stare at the child until his mouth parted slightly in realization. Tom Riddle! His brow furrowed and he spared a quick glance at the ruined remains of the time turner. Surely time turners couldn't take them so far back? It was unfortunate that however much he wished it he could not deny the resemblance to his enemy or the pain in his scar.

Riddle began to climb and clutch the bars of his crib to get a better look at the man. The small body shivered and shuddered from the cold but his dark eyes remained lit in curiosity.

The dingy room was not comforting and warm, as it should have been. Present adults were now absent and there were far too many children, yet there was something about the scene which made a feeling of familiarity linger and tickle Harry's consciousness. It was only for a moment that Harry could hear a scream of a mother—his mother—but it was enough to make his heart pound again and make him look for dementors out of the corners of his eyes. Nothing but he and the children breathed.

A sudden thought occurred to Harry: _Unlike me, Riddle doesn't have a mother or father to protect him._ He felt a stab of pity for the would-be-Voldemort. Perhaps he was not so bad as a child?

He realized his gaze had drifted when a mild surge of anger hit his scar and he felt his own anger raise at the child—no monster. He had killed so many without remorse; caused so much pain and thrived on it. Someone who did those sorts of things could not truly be human. It was his job to kill this monster.

_He's helpless. Why not kill him now before he can hurt anyone else_, the thought chilled him but also left him with a refreshing sense of purpose and hope. Green eyes looked into the clueless, dark eyes and he felt something more—triumph. He could save them all. With a sense of purpose he began the short walk to the child on still unsteady legs. Shakily, he aimed the wand at the toddler's unmarked forehead.

The child reached out to grab the wand, probably thinking it a gift, as Harry opened his mouth and prepared his tongue to call death.

"Ava—" Lightning struck and chased the shadows from the room. For a moment Harry's vision was drown in a memory of green, and soon, Harry felt green himself. His fingers lost their purpose and his wand dropped noiselessly into the smiling child's outstretched hand.

_I'm not Voldemort. I'm not like him. I'm not like Voldemort._

Even in death the memory of Riddle haunted him. His cold voice seemed to rise from the ruined pages and implied things that were so horrible, so menacing, that it made goose bumps rise throughout Harry's body:_There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the Great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike ... but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me._

And now apparently there was 'would-be-baby-murderers' to add to the list as well. No! He, Harry Potter, had stopped. Voldemort hadn't. Harry decided not to be a murderer. So he was not like that monster. But was it just luck? If the lightning had flashed a few moments later would he truly have become Voldemort's equal? If it was really luck that saved him from murdering Tom Riddle did that already make him his equal? After all, both of their victims were saved by 'luck'.

Riddle's eyes crinkled with joy as he stuffed the wand in his mouth and made a confused sound at his would-be-murderer. Said would-be-murderer's lips twitched into an uneasy smile. It was then that Harry realized he could never kill Riddle—this Riddle. He could never look at him as a monster again and muster enough hate to say the killing curse.

A drop of oddly warm water fell on Harry's chest and made his startled attention jump to the ceiling in search for a leak. Finding no evidence of said leak he reached a trembling hand—why was it trembling?—to his face and discovered wetness. He pulled his still shaky hand away and stared at the wetness with something akin to disbelief. Why was he crying? He bit down on his lip to distract himself from the burning of his closing eyes and the pain in his constricting chest as he realized the reason.

He had failed.

He had failed his parents, failed Sirius, failed Dumbledore, failed the whole Wizarding World—even himself. They were depending on him to save them from Voldemort but he—he just couldn't do it!_ Not as Riddle was now_ he thought dejectedly and rubbed his hands harshly against his wet eyes. Still the tears refused to stop no matter how harshly he rubbed away the tears and Harry barely held back a growl of irritation.

His shoulders slumped as he returned to his thoughts. If…if Riddle ended up becoming that monster. Harry…would just kill him then. It sounded so simple. Yet truly and unfortunately, he knew it was not. He opened his drowning eyes.

Through his blurry vision he saw Tom finally take the holly wand out of his mouth and stare at Harry as if he was some oddity; an annoying oddity. As the wizard's vision blurred to a level neighboring utter blindness, the stare turned harsh with fury and Harry's scar began to prickle.

"This is your fault Riddle!" he snarled at the child and clenched his fists. How dare Riddle be angry at him after everything he's done—would do, Harry sobered at the reminder and quickly rubbed away the last of the tears. Riddle looked honestly perplexed at the outburst then jerked his attention to the opening door.

A forgettable face appeared from behind the door. Brown eyes, brown hair and white skin were the simplest description of this woman. Not quite ugly but not a beauty either, with just enough fat filling out her apron to show that she lived a comfortable enough life.

Harry froze as the woman glanced around the room and he stole nervous glances at his puddle of blood. How was he going to explain this to a muggle? Did the time-turner make this count as another violation of the statute of secrecy? He looked longingly at his wand, wishing he could reclaim it so he could look to the familiar object for comfort but he dared not move and draw attention to himself.

His nervousness was for naught because the caretaker stared at the standing Riddle instead. She heaved a sigh and crossed the room to Riddle's crib on quiet feet, "Did you have a nightmare little one?" She reached into the shadowed crib, only to have pudgy arms swat her away. Unfortunately for Riddle, the weak slaps were ineffective against the grown woman so she easily lifted him into her arms and laid him against her warm chest. His head rested on her shoulder as a sign of reluctant yet temporary defeat and turned his attention to the nearby Harry.

"It's okay now" she cooed and stroked his back. Riddle glowered at Harry, clearly blaming the wizard for the situation. Harry smiled weakly at the child who pouted darkly in reply.

Gently, the woman laid the would-be-dark-lord back into his crib and covered him with the scratchy sheets**.** One would think the toddler was playing dead if not for his head turning just enough to look at the trespassing wizard. Even now, Harry half-expected Riddle to curl his lips in an unpleasant smirk and demand that the holly wand summon the last light Harry would ever see. The wizard blinked; expecting the scenario to suddenly begin but still, no accusation appeared in the dark eyes.

A clap of thunder roared and a strike of lighting lit up the room that quickly darkened in its absence. Both drew the woman's attention to the lonely window. The boy-who-lived froze again; he was sure that she had spotted him. It would be hard to miss someone standing not even an arm's reach from you after all. But the plain woman surprised him again by walking closer; so close that he could smell her breath which reeked of eggs. She stared straight into his green eyes.

"I know I closed it—odd. Very odd" she muttered to herself and walked into and through the tense wizard.

_How— I'm a ghost? But I can't be a ghost! I'm not dead! _Needing to clarify this, he raised one hand to touch the other. Both were solid and thankfully, not pearly white. But that was not enough to calm him so he moved his hand over the nearest crib, Riddle's, and began to lower it. The crib may have well been air to him for his fingers disappeared like smoke into the dark cherry wood and fell until they touched another solid surface—the toddler. Small fingers, cold as death itself, gripped Harry's warm hand like a drowning man. Dark eyes that spoke of nothing looked at Harry. Harry's heart calmed at the solid touch.

Several quiet moments passed and found the wizard nibbling at his lip. Did Riddle really deserve a second chance? He glanced at their joined hands and to Riddle's now pouting face. Yes; this Tom Riddle, this helpless version of what could be, deserved a second chance. With his mind decided, he gripped the child's cold hand with his bloodied, yet only free and warm hand. Blood dribbled down the hand and fell, only to fade into nonexistence before it could stain the child's unsullied blankets.

"You're mine now Riddle," he paused then twisted his lips in a grimace; clearly unhappy with his wording. "I'll take care of you...Tom," he added softly, watching Tom curiously for any sign of anger at the declaration. Instead, the toddler made an amused sound. "That's not supposed to be funny," but the cheerful sound was infectious so Harry grinned anyhow.

The green door made a barely audible creak and acting out of instinct, Harry tensed and glanced over his shoulder. The woman tightened her grip on the cold doorknob, as if needing its touch to convince herself this was really reality and gave Tom a baffled look. Hesitantly, she opened the creaking door further. It was through this opening that a dim and sickly yellow light escaped from the hallway and crept onto the toddler's face. With the light curled on his face, the toddler appeared to be completely covered in sickly yellow bruises and troubled by the shadows which darkened his features. The woman muttered to herself and with a shake of her head, the caretaker escaped into the hallway with the sickly light noiselessly slipping behind her heels. The quiet click of the door acted as a ghost of her presence. Shadows quickly gathered and spread across the toddler's form but this darkness did not make him look troubled or sickly; merely helpless and innocent. The green eyes finally dropped their gaze from the green door to the darkened form of Tom and found the toddler sleeping peacefully.

Cautiously he removed the hand that was once dressed in scarlet—but now bloodless—from Tom's hand. While watching Tom out of the corner of his eye for signs of awakening, he used two fingers to pluck his wand from the bed sheets and grimaced at the slobber now dripping onto his fingers. The toddler took a deep, uneven breath and released it as a content sigh. Harry's smile reached his eyes.

Yes, Tom Riddle would live. As would Voldemort's victims.

A/N: Yes, I'm aware that psychopaths tend to be distant/cold even as children but my reasoning for Riddle's interaction with Harry is that he can sense his horcrux in Harry. So to toddler Riddle, Harry is 'Tom Riddle' too so of course he takes a liking to the wizard ;].


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Many thanks to everyone who showed interest in the story and I hope you'll enjoy future chapters as much as the first :]. Special thanks to Cocobunny79 for proofreading.

The toddler's small nostrils clenched and his nose scrunched as the smell of baby powder and other baby products and unpleasant byproducts lingered in the chilly morning air. His face went slack and his half-mast eyes remained blank as he stared at the faint streams of soft morning light that squeezed past the green grill at random intervals. As he watched, the black curtain slowly floated up and down with the wind's silent caress and the young light peeked in whenever the curtain had traveled too high to bar its entrance.

He sat up; using one flabby arm to prop himself up and yawned soundlessly and widely. Tom was still far too young to bother covering his yawns with his hands yet still, one rose to wipe the tears that always woke with the morning ritual.

Just as his body finally reached a full sitting position, a loud snore rumbled through the room and shattered the peace into pieces. His young body stiffened as he realized the wizard from the night before was still in the room and quickly, as if he thought the wizard would disappear soon, crawled to the front of his crib. His skin prickled with goose bumps.

The dark eyes remained curious as they stared intently at the young teenager. Although the boy's covered stomach laid in the darkened section which the toddler's crib also rested in; his head was close enough to the window that the occasional rays of sunlight managed to give it a weak shine. The teen's hair wasn't messed up by sleep, as the toddler's quite clearly was, yet its natural messy style made it appear just as chaotic. At the sight, Tom couldn't help but wonder how something so horridly messy could exist and hastily lifted his hands and patted down his own hair. It was only after he was certain that his hair had been tamed that he managed to tear his gaze away from the unruly hair and look down. He shivered and frowned as he noticed the pleasant smile that was plastered on the teen's sleeping face.

The would-be dark lord leaned forward and reached his right hand out of the bars and towards the fallen form of the wizard. Nothing happened. He tried to reach further, his face so fixed in concentration that he looked constipated and his fingers stretched to their pudgy tips. A black spider scuttled slightly farther up the cream-white wall but nothing more occurred. With a pout, he retreated only to give a squeak of surprise as the cherry-wood crib refused to release his arm. His eyes went wide from shock and his breaths came faster from exertion as he tried to jerk his arm left and right. Left, right he tried again and again. His rapidly pinking arm barely moved. Finally he twisted his arm to the side and sweet release was found. He hugged the arm to his thumping chest.

With his dark eyes still wide with the remnants of surprise, a random patch of still messy hair on the very top of his otherwise neat head and a slightly parted mouth, he looked crazed enough to easily pass as Merope's son. He hissed at the bars of his crib as anger quickly chased away any other sliver of emotion.

With his face firm in determination yet again, he rose to the corner of his crib and began to climb. The pale face turned ruddy after numerous attempts yet he did finally manage to successfully throw his leg over the rail. After a bit more maneuvering, it became simple to leap to the ground. However, the quiet was not ruined this time by the plop of a body hitting the floor but instead by something far louder.

Harry awoke with a scream.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

His stomach joined his mouth in its cry of pain. Of course, since his stomach had no vocal cords with which it could scream, it instead clenched and curled as if a small grand piano had pounced upon it. Green eyes grew wide only to flinch half closed as light pierced their pupils. Unfortunately, they were better off simply staying closed for tears of pain, sleepiness and a lack of glasses revealed a world of only the vaguest blurs. Still, this didn't stop him from reaching confidently to where his wand sat patiently.

Yet, it was not a solid wooden surface that his hands found. Instead, they touched something fleshy and warm that he somehow instantly knew was Tom Riddle.

It was odd, only two nights before the thought would have given him panic but all he could feel was calmness towards the idea. Harry liked to think of it as acceptance of his self-appointed duty; though if asked, he couldn't honestly deny that it may have just as easily been from subconscious denial. Whatever the reason, it was because of this change of heart that Harry only blinked the sleep out of his eyes and languidly searched for his glasses even as he felt tiny fingers invading his pockets. With a pained grunt, he pushed himself into a sitting position and readied one hand to stop Riddle's curious ones while the other continued its search.

The world was still blurry to Harry when Tom's small hand loosely held the long wand. Harry's glasses gripped his nose and for two seconds the teenager witnessed such eagerness on the young Riddle's face it was a wonder if Tom didn't wet himself.

Suddenly, the young wizard's stomach dropped. Unfortunately, there was not enough time for him to make sense off the feeling before the world exploded into red and gold.

It is a well documented fact that amazing things can be achieved with adrenaline. Harry's reaction did nothing to disprove this. Despite being in a sitting position, Harry's arms and scrambling legs pushed with such strength that he found himself at least a good six inches backwards. A high pitch yelp escaped as he plopped onto the ground.

The wizard's face mirrored the toddler's shock at the sudden firework display. However, only Harry's chest rose and fell with alarming frequency while Tom's shock soon morphed into an expression of both greed and unparalleled glee.

"Mine," he said to the world with a smile so wide it made him appear more deranged than joyful. Pudgy fingers tightened around the wand to the point that his knuckles turned pallor. With the wand secure, he wasted no time in joyfully swishing it every which way he possibly could and chased the panicking shadows away with the red and gold sparks.

Unsurprising, nearly every toddler in the room smacked their dry lips with slobber and yawned in awakening at the unusual amount of noise. Meanwhile, Harry James Potter could be found awkwardly scrambling to his feet.

It didn't take long for Harry to catch up to Tom and awkwardly attempt a grab for his wand. Just as his fingers grazed the holly wand, Tom turned and bit harshly into his right hand. The teenager hissed nonsense; though more from surprise than pain, and stopped to examine his aching hand. If the blood slowly seeping out of his hand was any indication, Tom Riddle had gifted him with another scar.

The wizard took a deep breath and closed his eyes firmly as he adjusted partly to the pain but mostly to growing irritation. The toddler hadn't moved further than a few steps when the wizard's eyes opened and hardened in determination enough to earn the comparison to emeralds.

Tom Riddle seemed to sense the change for his steps became a louder thump, thump against the hard floor. Unfortunately for Tom, Harry's natural seeker skills came in handy for catching up with thieving toddlers. Unfortunately for Harry, the toddler was a natural at biting, kicking, dodging, hitting and head-butting his way to freedom. In no time at all, Harry was feeling suitably pathetic and felt the slightest twinge of sympathy for Voldemort's irritation at being beaten by a toddler.

Suddenly another thought occurred to Harry and he became as still as his erratic breathing would allow. The air itself crackled with energy. Still, Harry did not move from his position near the lonely window and Tom Riddle seemed to notice this lack of movement no more than the movement of the black spider.

The wizard's right hand curled, as if grasping an invisible wand, and lifted until it reached his eye level. Tiny droplets of blood languidly slithered down his right hand and he unconsciously licked his lips. _Please work_ he thought and shouted, "Accio!"

SMACK!

Harry's hand snatched the wand only centimeters away from one of his wide, green eyes. He released a breath he hadn't realized he had held and felt a nearly overwhelming wave of gratitude for his seeker skills. Hesitantly, as if afraid that his balloon of joy would be burst before it was even fully filled, he lowered and opened his hand._ I did it. I really did it._ His grin grew so wide that it reached his eyes.

At first, Tom's face was rigid with anger but when he turned to face the astonished wizard, his features rearranged themselves into furrowed brows and his eyes quickly darted from the wand to the wizard's face. Finally Tom settled his gaze on the wand. The silence stretched.

"How?" Tom finally said. His eyes had glazed over and his hands clenched erratically with the desire to claim the wand from the wizard's possession. Harry looked up and felt as if a pail of icy water had been dumped on his head.

"Magic," Harry said simply and wrapped his fingers protectively around his wand.

Tom's hands stilled at the idea and his face rearranged itself into a thoughtful expression. After some consideration, which was only seconds for a three year old, the toddler seemed to find this a believable enough explanation and walked towards the wizard. He held out his small right hand as if he was expecting a handshake.

"Gimme," Tom said with a raised chin and a stern, almost angry, look that gave the impression that Harry was the delinquent child that stole the prized possession.

His dark eyes continued to bore into Harry's own, the expression they held refused to fade in its intensity. Harry met the stare with his own stern expression. They breathed in sync.

Tom Riddle had no chance, Harry thought. After all, why would he cower to Tom Riddle when he had refused to cower in the presence of Voldemort?

The curtain flapped noisily yet they both were too engrossed with their unannounced competition to look at the oddity. "No," Harry said just as the curtain climbed high enough that the sunlight finally managed to pierce Tom's pupils. Tom hissed, his eyes watering as stepped back into the safety of the shadows. The wizard scowled, thinking the hiss was aimed at him and tucked his wand safely away in the waistband of his slacks. Harry Potter had defeated Tom Riddle once more.

The curtain fell again. With the distracting light gone, Tom did what all three year olds do best. He gave a shriek of rage and barreled towards the wizard. Harry's scar tingled and he bolted like a deer.

The earlier chase had gone topsy-turvy. Now it was Harry that ran around the room, dodging the little fingers which snapped at his clothes. He was torn between amusement and horror as he easily dodged the toddler's vicious attacks. When the wizard turned sharply, he spared a glance at his pursuer's snapping fingers and allowed himself a small smile as he wondered if a crab was Tom Riddle's animagus form.

He had been dodging the attacks for some time when he found himself ghosting through the crib. He blinked at his disintegrating hands and suddenly had the nearly overbearing urge to hit himself for his stupidity. With the thump, thump of the toddler's feet still chasing him, he glided through the wall next to the lone window. Instinctively, he looked down and felt childish awe as he experienced another miracle of magic—he was floating, broomless, several stories above the courtyard of the orphanage.

Tom paused for a moment, clearly reconsidering his plan of attack before he settled on pursing his lips and banging on the wall. The head poking out of the wall went unnoticed.

Every time the small fists slammed against the wall Harry couldn't help but grimace. He stared at Tom curiously, musing if this was normal three year old behavior. As the toddler continued to incessantly pound on the bricks, Harry had to admit he felt a bit impressed with the toddler's determination. If he carried that level of determination throughout his life then it really was no wonder that he had managed to become a dark lord. He scowled at the thought and berated himself for thinking it. There would be no Voldemort.

His infamous scar had just begun to twinge again when he said, "You can touch the wand again." Tom stopped his assault at the statement and tilted his head in a way that would allow him to see the floating head out of the corner of his eye. He smiled slowly at the words, clearly thinking that he was victorious.

"When you're nice," the toddler's smile crumbled and was replaced by an affronted look.

"Nice?"

"Yes, you can't bite people. See this?" Harry allowed his hand to ghost through the wall. "It hurts. It's not nice to make people hurt."

"No bite?" Tom gave Harry a dubious look.

"No bite," Harry nodded. "And when you want to borrow something you say _please_. You can't just take it or say mine."

"Say _please_?" the would-be-dark-lord looked like he was barely resisting the urge to retch as he tasted the word.

Harry nodded again and allowed himself a preemptive smile at his success._ Could it really be this easy?_ With some difficulty, Harry managed to swallow his excitement at the possibility. Luckily, Tom didn't see the smile because he had already turned his gaze to the window. The soft morning light made his jet black hair glisten and his lips thinned in concentration.

As the curtain began to fall again, Tom turned to Harry and evenly said, "Please?"

At the magic word, Harry ghosted through the brick wall and pulled his wand out of his pocket. The toddler's fingers snapped at the wand in a manner reminiscent of a snake and Harry reflexively ghosted back into the courtyard. After recovering from his surprise, he gritted his teeth and jabbed his head back through the wall. Although he valiantly tried to rein in his irritation, it leaked into his words as he firmly reminded Tom, "No bite!"

Riddle threw Harry a cross look and slowly, as if he expected to catch the wizard off guard, started to grab for the wand again. When Harry disappeared again Tom grudgingly returned his hand to his side and stared nastily at where Harry disappeared. The nasty expression refused to disappear even when the floating head reappeared.

"Not like you," Tom tilted his chin importantly and crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. His eyebrows furrowed deeply for a moment before he excitedly shouted out "Ugly!" and gave a small, prideful smile as if it had been a clever insult.

Harry couldn't help it—he laughed, albeit a tinge hollowly. Riddle growled at the wizard but Harry was far too distracted in his thoughts to hear.

Hadn't he thought that raising Tom Riddle would be easy only minutes ago? Did he really even stand the slightest chance of stopping Riddle from becoming Voldemort? What if he made Voldemort worse than he was to begin with? Every inch of him froze at the horrid idea before he quickly mentally shook it off. No, he couldn't let himself think like that. There must be a way; some sliver of a chance of success. This could even be normal three year old behavior; he realized and instantly felt the stress melt.

The green door creaked open and the other toddler's took this as their cue to cry. Riddle gritted his teeth and covered his ears with his hands at the noise. "Shush! I'm here! I'm here! Really now," her eyes widened as she suddenly noticed the wayward toddler. "Tom! What are you doing out of your crib!" Tom glowered at her and continued to cover his ears. "Mark my words the older children will never dare even look at you again if even one little hair of theirs had anything to do with this," she told Tom, as if she thought her tirade would comfort him. The tingling in the infamous scar increased so suddenly that Harry instinctively clasped his hand over it and clenched his eyes shut in preparation for agony.

In the future, the look that Riddle gave the woman could force ever the most foolhardy of followers to their trembling knees. However, she was too busy muttering about ungrateful children to notice and unhesitatingly reached for him.

Riddle tensed his jaw and pulled back his lips as she came closer. Harry had just opened his eyes when Riddle's teeth lunged for the hand. Although Harry wasted no time in shouting "no bite!" the reminder had come too late. Tom Riddle's teeth had already enclosed around the muggle's hand.

"You bit me!" she said and hastily dumped him in his crib.

"Ugly," he bit out from his crib as he shifted into a sitting position.

"That's naughty," she shook her finger at him and winced belatedly at the movement. "Now you sit there in time out and think about the naughty thing you've done. Be_ good_ and later you can play." She shook her head and muttered to herself, "Really, what has gotten into him, he's usually such a well-behaved child…"

Her foot paused in midair in its path to one of the others cribs. "Oh! Dear me. I nearly forgot. Really where has my head gone today?" Harry curiously watched as Riddle backed away into his corner, clearly having an idea of what she had forgotten.

"Now Tom, quit being silly. You need your diaper changed." Harry only barely smothered a laugh. Somehow, Tom noticed this and threw Harry a dirty look from his corner. Soon his ire was directed away from the wizard as the muggle's hands reached for him again. He swatted her hands away, fury giving them enough strength to make the muggle hesitate and allowing him time to press himself deeper into the corner. "No!"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle you will cease this ruckus this instant!" Riddle's face furrowed while the other children wore expressions of dire fear and he tilted his head as if an alien creature inhabited the area where the woman now stood. An evanescent sliver of fear entered woman's eyes.

While he seemed focused on his confusion, she quickly grabbed hold of him and slipped a finger under his diaper. The toddler thrashed, as if in indignation but the woman's hold was firm so there was little he could do. Soon, the confused expression that he had recently wore transferred to the woman. "Not even the slightest," she murmured to herself. She released the toddler as if he was a poisonous snake. Said snake sputtered bubbles angrily in his corner.

The toddler in the crib next to Tom's glanced over, his expression curious before breaking into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

A/N: Eep, Long AN sorry guys. Aoi Mitsukai brought up a good point whether Tom is going to actually be a sociopath rather than a psychopath. When I went on a spurge about it a few years back I remember the main difference between the two is that psychopathy was more so biological while sociopathy is mostly nurture. I've always viewed Voldemort's condition as mostly genetic (love potion, Gaunts' and Riddles' poor genes) so thats one of the main reasons I'm considering him psychopathic. As for whether Tom Riddle will be able to tell the difference between right and wrong and just not care (sociopath) or just not be able to know the difference period (psychopath)...he's not going to be able to tell the difference in the beginning (psychopath). All the other supposed differences between the two tend to overlap depending on the source you use so beyond those two points there will be no other differences between the two conditions. I'll be very surprised if the the differences between the two are ever going to come up in the story itself so don't worry if you forget.


	3. Chapter 3

Parseltongue is **bolded**

"_Not even the slightest," she murmured to herself. She released the toddler as if he was a poisonous snake. Said snake sputtered bubbles angrily in his corner._

_The toddler in the crib next to Tom's glanced over, his expression curious before breaking into a fit of uncontrollable giggles._

Tom turned slowly and faced the giggling toddler; disgust apparent as rivers of snot flowed down the flushed face. As he stared at the object of his ire, bubbles continuously foamed through his clenched teeth until so many crowded them that it looked like he had eaten a bar of soap. Even when the caretaker had finished gathering the last of the sniffling and wailing children, he refused to stop glaring at where the giggling toddler had sat; as if it had been forever contaminated by the other child's presence.

Harry glided through the cherry wood bars and after a bit of experimentation, managed to force his floating form into a sitting position next to Tom. Even the murder of his personal bubble did not inspire even a twitch from the toddler. The wizard's reaction was just as intriguing for he did nothing but stare in the direction of the lone window.

Time crawled and so did the object that Harry's eyes followed with a doggedness usually reserved for hunting snitches. Up, down, right, up, right, down, left, pause, up...was the constant rhythm that both the green eyes and the object danced to. Although this object moved around it's siblings in a manner reminiscent of the planets and the stars, it was a far cry from either. In fact, it was merely dust.

As his green eyes continued to follow the path of the dust he couldn't help but allow his thoughts to go down a path of their own; a path to dusting and dish washing, to stiff shoulders and raw fingers and to hot summers and lightly shadowed flowerbeds. Clearly, it was not Rome that all the roads lead to but rather the Dursley's. Unbidden, as the memories summoned themselves Harry couldn't help but recall the ever-present frustration and anger he experienced during the summer.

Riddle sneezed, effectively halting Harry's emotions from continuing down the unpleasant route his thoughts had taken. At the noise, Harry had flinched violently and stared at Tom; uncertain whether to believe that Tom Riddle really did something as mortal as sneezing. Still, Tom continued to ignore the wizard and it was because of this that he missed the disbelieving look etched on wizard's face. If Harry hadn't known it to be false, he would of thought his tongue had been jinxed into a knot because it took him a good many false starts before he managed to give an awkward, "Bless you". The only response Harry received was the crinkling of the bed sheets as Tom fidgeted.

"Tom..."

"Tom," this time there was sharpness to the implied request. Without glancing at the wizard, the toddler stood and walked to the edge of the crib. Stubby fingers gripped the dark bars just as Harry was gripped by a sudden worry that Tom could no longer see him.

Being a spirit had some benefits, Harry decided as he easily wisped through bars and stood in front of Riddle. The dark eyes glanced up at Harry, clearly questioning the reasoning for the movement, before he looked down at the bars again. His face grew tense; though it was difficult to guess why. Perhaps he thought Harry had tricked him into looking or maybe, it could have just been a side effect of his overbearing determination. The reasoning mattered little for it all ended the same: he began to climb.

While the failed attempts inspired visible irritation in the would-be dark lord, for Harry they inspired his heart to crackle with the first embers of warmth. As Tom started to finally succeed in climbing higher, Harry's brain creaked and groaned into gear and with a mental click, a quick scene played out in his head. In the scene, Voldemort smiled chilling at him and languidly pointed one corpse-colored finger to his snakelike nostrils. Naturally, the scene made Harry shudder as if a dementor's chill lingered in the air. Yet his body stilled moments later, as he realized something about the scene nagged at his consciousness to think harder. Unwillingly, Harry did so and remembered the finger and…the nose! Suddenly panicked, he focused on Tom again and noticed he had already reached the top.

"Tom!" he shouted.

For once, Tom looked up at Harry's call. Yet, even the warning did not stop him from giving a cry of surprise as he found himself pushed backwards. With a dull thump, he landed with his arms and legs sprawled in haphazard directions. Limp and useless, the toddler's arms remained sprawled above his head as he looked at Harry for some long moments, as if he expected staring to make the reason for his fall to suddenly become clear. When no answer was forthcoming, he scrunched his nose at the wizard. It was only when he sat up and moved to the bars again that the wizard spoke.

"Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself if you climb over." Instead of a warning, Tom seemed to take this as a challenge because he turned his fingers pallor against the dark bars.

"No," Harry said again and attempted to unfurl the hands from the bars. Attempted because as soon as he managed to uncurl one the other took its place. Despite being a mere babe, Tom was clearly already capable of forming battle strategies. While one hand gripped a bar, the other he used to try to push the wizard away. Although Harry's patience started out healthy and firm, the constant tingling in his scar and the natural aggravation associated with this type of competition nipped at it brutally. So brutally in fact, that Harry's face displayed how close it was to greeting death. After a few minutes of this, the irritation mirrored on both of their faces made it clear that they would have no qualms with completing the—as of yet—unknown prophecy.

Eventually, Tom did succeed in pushing Harry and thus, made the wizard trip over his feet. For once, luck was on Tom's side as proven by how he easily climbed over the bars and jumped before Harry could recover.

"Wingardium Leviosa!_" _the wizard shouted and felt a surge of gratitude for his reflexes when he saw Tom floating mere inches from the floor; the feelings of gratitude dog-piled when he realized that if Tom was only a little older, his levitating clothes would have split under the pressure. With a relieved sigh, he watched the toddler turn in languid circles as he stared in the face of possible death. Small palms were laid out flat in front of the plump face while his legs were curled in a manner reminiscent of a frog.

His dark eyes widened and his head darted left and right, as if the world had suddenly been filled with so many interesting things that his eyes had decided they must look at all of them at the same time. Shakily, the toddler breathed in as his eyes widened in an attempt to take in the experience. With a smile, Harry wondered if that's how he looked when he first experienced magic.

As Harry lifted his holly wand and thus the toddler as well, Tom looked at the wizard. When he had clearly realized Harry was the cause of this miracle, he smiled toothily and gave a shriek of pure and earsplitting joy. At that moment he seemed to remember his hands again for they were suddenly overtaken by chaos; moving every which way as if the joy had materialized itself in the arms. Harry too, felt this sort of overwhelming happiness. However, he somehow had managed to restrain it into a painfully wide, toothy smile. The toddler kicked out his feet in awkward swimming motions as his levitating clothes continued to give him freedom from gravity.

When he finally landed gently in his crib, his mouth opened widely and his breaths came fast as his small, pounding heart was overwhelmed. With an expectant look, he turned his attention back to Harry and although the smile had disappeared from his face, he was still visibly brimming with joy. He giggled and clapped, his eyes wrinkling as he became intoxicated with his own joy. "Again! Again! I… I... like going fly. Going fly... Fly is fun!" he nodded in agreement with himself.

"Don't climb over the crib again," the words began happily but ended with a worried tone to match the frown that took up residence on the wizard's face. The toddler's fading smile went unnoticed by the wizard who had taken to pacing back and forth. His feet remained hidden under the floor as he paced soundlessly.

"Again! Fly again!" The sound waves entered Harry's ears yet curiously, his over fried brain refused to admit that it had converted it into sound.

Why wasn't a ministry owl here yet? He paced through the cribs, his lower body disintegrating with each pass through the bars just as the memory of his first trial for underage magic gnawed away at his peace.

Briefly, the wizard seemed to remember the toddler again for he quickly explained, "You'll get hurt," before taking up pacing again.

Tom blinked at the warning, considering, before crawling to his crib bars in an unbothered fashion. Just as Tom's pudgy fingertips touched the bars, Harry stopped, a crib impaling his form. He growled out "No." Tom stilled at the words but he resumed his climbing attempts moments later when the wizard walked to and straight through the curtained window.

Harry looked every which way, his eyes watering as the morning sun made his task even more difficult. Still, no owl dotted the distance. With a heavy sigh, he ghosted back inside, his nerves still shot when he noticed Tom's position. "Tom," he said halfway between a sigh and growl and walked over. The toddler responded by attempting to climb over the crib faster. However, luck had fallen into the wizard's hands this time. All it took was a gentle push to force Tom to land on his wrinkled sheets.

"No," Tom said and started to crawl to the side yet again. With an aggravated sigh, Harry closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his already messy hair as he realized the futileness of the situation.

"If you promise to stay in your crib I'll show you some magic," his tone was even, yet there was a tinge of desperation and annoyance lurking in the words. He had already said one spell, saying a few more wouldn't do any more harm. At least he hoped.

Tom didn't need to be told twice. His head turned so quickly that it was curious that he didn't develop whiplash and his fingers, which had grazed the bars, now fell.

"Would you like that?" Riddle nodded with such eagerness it was a wonder he didn't get a headache and sat attentively.

"First you've got to give me a pinky promise." Tom's small mouth parted with an unsaid question as the rest of his face began to show signs of irritation. When the silence continued Harry asked, "Do you know what a pinky is?"

"Yes" Tom growled out and the infamous scar tingled.

"Point to it." Tom did just that. "Good, you're very smart Riddle."

"I ver… very smart," Tom said and although his facial muscles tried to twitch into a normal smile, they seemed to forget something along the way and left a creepy impersonation of one instead. The would-be prey stiffened, his cells singing with the age old melody of 'Run!' as the rips in the wolf's sheep suit became horrifically visible.

Disgruntled, the wizard continued. "First we both promise to do something, and then I take my pinky…" Harry lifted one hand, "And you take yours…" Harry lifted his other hand up, "Then we put them together like this." Both of the pinkies entwined. "That makes the promise official," his voice was serious despite the content.

"Official?" Harry visibly fumbled over the toddler's question for a moment. "It means you can't take back the promise." Tom nodded, his eyes never straying from what would have once upon a time been his favorite prey.

"I, Harry James Potter, promise to show Tom Marvolo Riddle magic if he stays in his crib. Tom, will you promise stay in the crib if I show you magic?"

"I promise," Tom said as solemnly as a three year old could and raised his pinky expectantly. Unhesitatingly, Harry's hand ghosted through the crib and his pinky curled around Tom's, effectively dwarfing it. No magic curled around them, as would be expected from a Wizard's Oath, but an invisible spark did pass through them at the touch. Instead of weakening their small embrace, the shock instead inspired their fingers to curl tighter around each other until they resembled two tightly wound snakes. In a slightly dazed fashion, they retracted their fingers. As Harry returned his hand to his side, Tom was visibly torn between disgust and wonder as he looked at his own pinky.

The holly wand pointed at Tom and a whispered "Engorgio" fell from the wizard's lips. As the pillow underneath him tripled in size, Tom gasped. The toddler looked at the pillow, up to the Cheshire grin of the wizard, then back to the pillow again. He gave a squeaky baby laugh as he apparently realized what had happened to his pillow. Harry took this as a go ahead, so he again pointed to the pillow but this time said, "Reducio." Riddle made a face at the sinking sensation but broke into a smile a second later and looked at Harry expectantly. This time Harry did not disappoint; with a grin, he again whispered, "Engorgio." This time, Tom laughed right away. This went on for a few more minutes before Tom finally started looking irked at the idea of a pillow changing sizes.

Harry mentally begged the muggle to return soon as he pointed to one of the pillows in another crib and intoned, "Wingardium leviosa." Tom gave a shriek of delight at the spell's name, clearly having decided which his favorite was. Before Harry could decide what to do next, Tom pointed to the black curtain. Harry obliged and after a few quick flicks, light flooded the room. Again, Riddle pointed to another object; this time a blanket and Harry obeyed just as the curtain flapped shut. This went on for some time, Tom's smile never fading as he increasingly quickly gave out demands and they laughed in sync when Harry tripped in his rush to get from one item to another. Despite the twinges of pain that now littered his overstretched face, Harry couldn't remember the last time he felt so...utterly happy.

Eventually, one of Harry's trips turned into what would have been a nasty dive to the ground. Despite the lack of pain, Harry murmured, "Ow" as he rose through the floor. Tom laughed. "You think that's funny?" his comical tone was made even more ridiculous by his best, fake serious face. Riddle's laugh turned hysterical.

"Brat," the wizard said with a laugh, his voice soft with newborn affection. By the time Riddle's breaths calmed, his face had turned as red as a blushing maiden's and his cheeks had become shiny from numerous tears. "Owchie," Tom gasped and held his stomach with both arms.

"What owchie?" said Harry, eyes glancing everywhere and nowhere at once as worry took over. In response, Tom pointed to his lungs with both hands with a stricken look. "Your heart?" Harry's brow furrowed at the guess. Again, the toddler pointed. "Your lungs?" The toddler stilled, needing a moment to remember the meaning before nodding once. "You've never laughed that hard before?" Again Riddle paused as his face furrowed with the effort of decoding the words before he gave a sharp affirmative. "That's normal," Harry explained with a bemused smile. Tom didn't return the smile; instead he pointed to another pillow. Harry shook his head in disbelief; amazed that anyone could like that spell so much. He lifted and maneuvered the pillow towards the toddler just as Tom opened his mouth to air his complaint.

Squeak, went the wooden door. Plop went a certain pillow and "Bloody—" went a certain wizard. The plain woman shrieked at the pillow and after some fidgeting, walked forward and prodded it with her foot, as if she expected some manner of creature to pop out of it. When nothing untoward occurred, she breathed a noisy sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, Tom turned his attention from the fallen pillow to the invisible teenager, his face inaudibly asking 'why did you stop?' The woman looked up and a hand rose to cover her mouth as she gasped at his appearance. "Oh. Oh dea—dear dear. Little Tom I'm so sorry." At her voice he turned to her, looking bewildered as to why she was talking to him before returning his attentions to the wizard. "Little Billy was biting poor Ann so I couldn't leave. It was absolutely dreadful. Won't you look at me? Please? I'm sorry."

However Tom heard her fervent apologies no more than he would an ant's cries from under a magnifying glass. Again, Harry began to pace. The woman picked Tom up and he glanced at her curiously before doing more wizard watching. As she opened the door, one hand stroking slow circles on his back, he made a questioning goo at Harry. Instead of Harry, the woman responded. "There there, it's alright now little Tom. Shh… There that's a good baby."

" Har-ry"Tom said, still ignoring the woman.

"Harry? Who is that dear?"

"Har-ry" he repeated, now glaring at the wizard. Yet Harry had turned a deaf ear to his call.

The door clicked shut.

(((((((((((((

Harry's panic gave him quite the tour of the orphanage but it was only when something peculiar entered the corner of his vision that he finally saw his surroundings. It was him. Or to be more exact, his reflection. He floated and engaged in a brief and unintentional staring contest with his mirror self; as hesitant to leave as he was to stay. Slowly, he approached the mirror and raised a hand to the glass. The glass fogged up under his hand yet this went unnoticed by him for his eyes were drawn upward and to his infamous forehead. White breath choked out of his mouth as his mind tried to choke the image out of his head. It was gone._It can't be gone!_With a mix of anticipation and dread, he lifted his hand and flattened his now wrinkled and darkly discolored forehead. With the creases flattened out, a faint flicker of shiny scar tissue appeared. It wasn't gone. His hand dropped uselessly to his side and his green eyes flickered back to his forehead before morose thoughts could takeover._ How?_ The memory of the time turner bursting and colliding with his forehead flickered in his head like an aged wizarding photograph.

As he stared at his deformed scar, he was struck by a sudden need to look for any others. As if summoned by the thought, his hand ached and Harry lifted it. The bite mark was still visible. Yet two pink marks, much like a snake bite, were the only portions of it which remained stark against his hand.

Again his eyes drifted and mindlessly, Harry lifted his sleeve until the cut on his forearm was visible. The memory of Diggory and the graveyard overtook him, and his heart clenched violently as an odd mix of anger and despair swished chaotically within its depths. He felt like shouting at his organ as his heart tumbled between the two choices and knotted his thoughts until they were impossible to understand. Green eyes looked into green. He had to leave; to escape.

The green bathroom door groaned fully open just as he ghosted through it in a rush. An unwrinkled Mrs. Cole gasped, a hand lifting and clenching over her heart.

)))))))))))))

Meanwhile, Tom Riddle could be found on a large and faded green carpet. While the others were busy drooling, biting on wood blocks and playing with stuffed animals, Tom was busy staring at a certain object with acute longing. It belonged to one of the older boys, an eight year old that currently stood a distance away from the carpet. Normally, Thomas's stuffed animals inspired no desire in him but there was something about this new one—a shiny black snake with vivid green eyes that made him obsessed with the idea of possessing it. He must have it. It was his, he decided.

He walked over, expecting no conflict to his claim. It was his after all and since he decided it, it must be true. When Tom had gotten close to the snake, the blond haired boy with bug-eyed glasses turned away and left his snake unguarded on the ground. With a pleased smile, Tom picked up the snake and dragged it up into his arms. Pale hands held the snake's limp head while dark eyes stared into glassy green. He hissed "**Hello"**.

The blond boy flinched at the noise and quickly looked every which way; clearly becoming befuddled as to where that noise had come from. Desperate, he looked down and his face darkened with malice at the sight of Tom. "Bad baby! That's mine," the larger hands grabbed the snake's tail.

"No!" Tom hugged the snake to his chest as Thomas pulled the snake's tail.

"Let go! You're going to get drool on it!"

"No! Mine!"

"I'll teach you!" the child's hand rose in preparation to strike yet Tom's gaze remained unflinching, even curious. The blond boy hesitated; clearly bothered by the abnormal reaction, but eventually his hand began to lower. However, his hesitance had cost him; which became apparent when a feminine yell of "Thomas!" was overheard. "Oh bloody… You've put one of the witches on my tail," he muttered as his shaggy blond hair fell into his brown eyes and his body curled into itself in a futile attempt to gain invisibility.

"Were my eyes deceiving me boy or where you about to strike little Tom?"

"No" he said in a tone that made it obvious the answer was yes. Neither noticed when Tom took this opportunity to hide himself and his snake in a dark corner.

"No? No?" She shrieked hysterically. "Don't you dare lie to me boy! How dare you hit an itty bitty baby!" At the words his brown eyes darted to the ground, completely hidden now by blond hair. Through clenched teeth he muttered the truth, "He was taking my snake."

"TOOK YOUR SNAKE? YOUR _SNAKE_?" The boy's face shot up to the woman as the yelling began; his eyes tearing with obvious fear. "HE'S A BABY YOU DAFT CHILD! SHOULD I USE THE COTTON YOUR BRAIN IS CLEARLY MADE OF TO STUFF SOME TOYS? I QUITE THINK SO!"

"B—but he took," the boy looked torn between tears and rage. "THAT'S WHAT BABES DO!" She took an unsteady breath and rubbed two fingers against her forehead in a futile attempt to flatten out her crinkled brows.

"Now Thomas, do you know what you're going to do?"

"No," he pouted in an attempt to look brave despite the fear still trapped in his eyes. "You're going to give that snake of yours to Little Tom AND," she said as Thomas opened his mouth to argue. "You are going to say sorry. You hear?"

"Keep the bloody snake!" shouted Thomas, his voice warbled from withheld tears. The matron kicked him softly. "A—a-and Sorry!" he choked out and the matron smiled. "Though you don't deserve it!" he added before he turned to the flabbergasted matron. While he nervously fidgeted with his hands he shouted "N-N-Now y-you hush up!" The caretaker chased after the boy, shouting "Thomas! You will not speak to me that way! YOU HEAR ME! THOMAS!"

"GO AWAY YOU WITCH!" his voice had lost its shakiness."THOMAS! COME HERE NOW. WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A CHAT WITH MRS. COLE."

When the loud, funny noises were gone, Tom turned his attention back to the snake.**'I Tom'** he hissed in a tone dedicated to secrecy, as if his mere name was a deep and dark secret he wished to tell no-one. A shadow fell upon them and Tom looked up, irritated.

"Wow what a freak," muttered a dark haired boy whose floppy ears and narrow nose made him look quite odd himself. "Don't say that. If one of the ladies would hear you..." a small, mousy boy said quietly in-between nervous glances around the room. "This is that Riddle kid right? Maybe circus freakishness runs in his blood," said a dirty blonde haired boy whose long sleeves didn't quite cover his heavily freckled arms. "I think its brill!" a boy with thick, dark red hair that fell neatly to his ears said with a proud tilt of his chin. He scowled when the other three looked at him as if he had spouted fur and polka-dotted horns.

Tom secretly wondered what a 'circus' and a 'freak' was but he decided they must be good things if they were talking about him.

He frowned in a manner reminiscent of an irritable professor as the red haired boy crouched down to his level but he was curious enough about the boy's actions to not send him away yet.

"Can you do it again?" the red haired boy asked, his green eyes turning as soft as his voice. Tom glanced at his snake, nonverbally asking what it thought of this development before nodding and looking back at the grinning boy. "No," Tom said and turned his attention back to the snake. The other boys laughed heartily. "Com'on _please,_" the dark red haired boy pleaded with his hands clapped together. "No!" Tom scowled at the boy. "Give it up Yarrow," the dark haired boy said in-between laughs. The red-haired boy steadfastly ignored his friend and asked with a strikingly realistic fake sad face, "Please?"

"NO!" the other toddler's startled at the noise and looked in their direction just as Tom stood.

"Please?" The black haired boy yanked the red one's arm and said, "Leave the circus freak alone mate. Com'on let's play marbles."

The dirty blond haired boy suddenly grinned maniacally and said, "Have fun praying for your daddy to come freak, cause he never is! Bye freak." With the exception of the troubled red-haired boy, all of the boys sniggered at the toddler's back. Still scowling, Tom slipped through the cracked nursery door; a black snake tail dragging behind him. He began to wonder what this mysterious 'daddy' was like.

))))))))))))))))))))))

Glassy-eyed, Harry stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. As his mind whirled with such speed that it made his stomach churn violently with sympathy; he wondered if thoughts could be transfigured into tornadoes. Had the trace followed him in the past? Could the ministry just be running late? Perhaps he had cast so many spells that they decided they would catch him by surprise instead. He groaned and placed his head in his hands as his stomach rebelled again.

Dumbledore wouldn't be willing to protect him from the ministry now; he was just some unknown kid. He scowled at the thought. He didn't want to depend on Dumbledore. Yet, he managed to admit to himself that without the headmaster, his chances weren't looking good. His stomach continued to wrap itself into knots.

Riddle padded over softly, doing nothing for a few long moments except strangle his snake to his chest. "Har-ry."

Unbidden, the memory of the Diary Riddle glaring down at him revived even though young Tom's face was absent of the Diary's disgust. It was odd, Harry thought, that as a babe Tom Riddle already had the Diary Memory's stern look mastered. As Harry continued to look into the dark eyes, he couldn't help but expect Tom to start spouting nonsense about being the greatest wizard alive. The illusion was shattered when Tom spoke.

"I got snake...Pretty snake. Look." He held out his snake for the wizard to inspect. Said wizard blinked, his mind stalling and sputtering as it processed the idea of Tom Riddle owning let alone wanting a stuffed animal. Finally, he spoke, "Er—well…what's his name?" Tom smiled widely and practically shouted "Hairy." Needless to say, that was the last thing Harry expected and this clearly became apparent when Harry reflexively asked, "Why is his name Hairy?"

"It black like Har-ry," Tom squeezed the snake with his right hand and pointed to Harry's hair with his left. "And see. Look. Got green pretty eyes. Harry got green eyes." He flicked the snakes tongue with his left hand as he continued, "So me nam...name Hairy."

Before Harry could respond to this, Tom spoke again. "Like name daddy?" There was not even a whiff of embarrassment in the tone or the voice. Harry's eyes went comically wide and he barely managed to choke out "What?" Riddle repeated it, while Harry was sure his stomach was sizzling and gnawing his insides into nonexistence as the word brought up the memory of Riddle Senior's bone. "No..." as he said this he felt a tingle in his scar and a rush of anger._ A family might do Tom some good…_"But I can be your brother," he added hastily and without thinking rubbed his scar with his palm.

Tom gave this thought a three-year-old's three second version of consideration. "Okay. Little brother," he pointed a finger at Harry and then turned the finger on himself as he puffed up his chest importantly, "Big brother." Harry gave him a queer look. "But I'm older." Expressionless, Tom shrugged as if it wasn't important. To a three year old it doubtlessly had little value.

For a moment, Harry entertained the idea of Tom actually being the older brother and in a moment of horrible logic that Tom's view could be correct after all. When time travel was considered who was really older, Tom Riddle or Harry Potter? His head throbbed and he barely refrained from crying out to Hermione for help. Hermione… At the memory of his dear friend, he was smothered with a wave of sadness. He realized his last memory of Hermione was of her looking anxiously at his scar when he confided in her about the pain. At the memory, his heart warmed yet the distance made it burn—the pain of longing making it nearly as unpleasant as it was pleasant. Just as he began to think of Ron, Sirius and everyone else dear to him, he looked up and saw Riddle stare at him with a look of utter confusion and with an angry grunt the toddler ran out of the room. Harry stared at the toddler's back, the look of utter confusion now copied onto his own face.


	4. Chapter 4

oo: Unfortunately, I can't answer your questions here since the answer involves a major plot point...actually several major plot points. If you send me an email I can answer your questions :].

AN: Thank you to both of the anonymous reviewers :]. Also, thank you to the many others who have put this fic on their alerts/favorites.

It was fortunate that Tom Riddle was different. For had Tom Riddle been the regular sort of child, he wouldn't of been nearly as accepting to the increasingly commonplace sight in his dreary nursery. Instead, the 46 month old merely played with his chapped lips as he bored his dark gaze into the prone and floating figure at the end of his crib. Round and thin framed glasses floated slightly above the light-colored floor underneath the wizard's open yet sightless gaze. If the wizard would be unfortunate enough to have gravity suddenly recall his existence, then the glasses would surely break before even a single tick of a clock could complete.

Six days, a lifetime to a three year old, had passed since the wizard had looked at him with his interesting green eyes. Needless to say, Tom Riddle did not like this fact.

In the months since Harry had entered his life, it had become commonplace for the wizard to 'sleep' for days at a time and float either within the crib or just high enough to reach Tom's shoulders. Normally, the toddler was not bothered by this for it was simple to gather some of the wizard's static clothing in his small fist and drag Harry where ever he deemed they should haunt. When he grew bored of doing the usual sort of three year old activities, he babbled about anything and everything to the wizard and of course, the floating body beside him would quietly listen. Truly he was happy, overjoyed even, that his Harry was such a good listener but eventually Tom grew bored and wanted to be a listener himself for his Harry always had the most fascinating things to say.

The green-eyed man had told him of amazing things: Magic, Magic people called wizards, Owls, black dogs and children's tales were a few of the many. To his utmost irritation, he couldn't understand many of the words that his wizard used. However, he already knew that more than anything, he wanted Harry to tell him more about the boy who lived in a dark space and became something great: A wizard. Tom decided that Harry would teach him how to be a great magic person too.

Unfortunately, it was only three days after Harry's six days of silence began that Tom had unwillingly become a listener again. For those three remaining days his starved ears had quietly endured the annoying wails and whines of the other children and the soft-spoken worries of the caretakers; who occasionally peered at where his hand gripped the warm fabric of the suit. Luckily, the caretakers usually left him alone after he glared at them but from time to time one would get down on her knees and ask him stupid questions such as, "Why don't you play with Billy or Ann, Tom? I'll watch Hairy for you while you play," or "Does your hand hurt?" and "Did something happen Tom?" Eventually those questions were suffocated by his silence but every once in a while he could still feel their annoying questioning gaze fixed on him.

For those six days the wizard had floated not only with his eyes frustratingly open yet motionless but also with his breath stolen. It was also fortunate that Riddle had not yet understood what was to one day be his greatest fear—death—for he would be reacting quite differently had he known that the lack of the intriguing rise and fall of Harry's chest should signal death's arrival rather than mere rest. Instead, the toddler thought that the fact that Harry's nose did not flare with life or that his lips did not part to greedily drink life-bearing oxygen simply meant his Harry was sick. Very sick. Tom Riddle did not like this either.

So dire was his desire to play with his wizard that he had even attempted to ask the matrons how to fix a sick person but Tom quickly decided they were 'not smart.' Honestly, how could they not be able to understand even his simple request of, "How to stop sick?" His Harry did not have a 'fever', 'bumps' or 'chills' whatever those were supposed to be. He just needed to make Harry better.

It was then that he recalled another story the wizard had told him; though it was far less interesting than his favorite. Had it been anyone else he would of rather scrunched his nose in disgust than go to such measures but it was his Harry so he was willing to try.

Tom's breath curled in the chilly morning air and his faded shoes clicked as he walked across the hard floor to Harry's side. Roughly, since he was too young still to fully grasp the concept of gentleness, he turned the wizard until Harry would fall on his back if his body gave up its resistance to gravities call.

For a moment he stood still, indecisive about what to do next, before he stepped forward and accidentally bumped into the wizard's arm. He stared at said arm curiously, as if it had only just began its existence and realized he must experiment with this oddity first. With some grunts born of struggle, he bunched up one of the wizard's sleeves until the bare arm was revealed to him. Slowly, he ran his finger down the procured arm and with rapt attention; he watched goose bumps rise obediently to his touch. The wizard shuddered and Tom chuckled; Harry's body was funny.

Curious, he ran a finger down his own arm and scowled. That was decidedly not a pleasant feeling. So he ran his finger down Harry's arm instead and chuckled again at the body's reaction to his touch.

Soon, he grew bored again and looked up to the wizard's face, as if seeking advice about what to do next. His gaze locked on the wizard's lips and he slowly placed a pudgy finger to the lips. Nothing happened. Curious, he moved his finger back and forth across the lips as if his finger had been transfigured into a serpent. Eventually, his finger accidentally slipped into the small gap and touched something horridly wet and warm. His eyes widened for a brief moment and he yanked his finger back. Once his finger was deemed a safe enough distance away, he simply stared at the lips for some long moments before his curiosity forced him to return his finger to the lips. Nothing happened. His eyebrows scrunched deeply into his plump face.

Then, he struck. Quick as a serpent he placed his lips onto the breathless one's and reared back just as hastily. The dark eyes stared at the wizard with the intensity of a predator watching its would-be-prey and he held his breath in anticipation. All it had taken was a quick kiss for the one adult to wake up the other sleeping adult so any moment now Harry would surely wake up too and then they could play.

His eyes flickered rapidly to every portion of the still body in search of movement but not even a single finger twitched. He released his held breath as a loud huff. It was Harry's fault! He was supposed to wake up and get better. How dare he still be sick! Empowered by his anger, he raised one hand and slapped the wizard's arm with such force that it echoed within his hand. Interest and irritation visibly wrestled across his features as he inspected his stinging hand. When Tom looked up again, his eyes were greeted by a small pink hand mark that now marred the barred arm. However, that was of little interest to him so he quickly grew bored yet again. He pouted at the wizard. It was the wizard's fault that he was bored.

Unhurriedly, he inclined his lips to the one of the wizard's ears as he had seen others do to sleeping people. "Wake up," he whispered and pulled back. The wizard refused to do so. "Wake up!" he yelled and bunched up his fingers into fists. Still, the wizard did not breathe.

He looked around the room in a distracted fashion until his eyes finally settled on staring at the lone window. As if struck by sudden inspiration or in hopes of startling the wizard, he hastily turned his head so that it faced the sleeping teen and brutally tugged on the dark hair until the wizard's face was a mere breath away from his own.

Small lips pressed demandingly into the slightly parted larger ones and Tom's dark eyes stared relentlessly into glazed green. Time continued to move forward and a small trail of slobber dribbled onto the larger lips.

Even when the green eyes dilated and began to move again, Tom still remained unmoving. Finally, the green eyes stilled and widened.

Tom's own eyes widened as he was frantically pushed away and the wizard gave a sharp cry of pain as several of his hairs were brutally separated from his scalp. The toddler swayed as his balance cast its last dying breaths and he frantically grasped Harry's suit just as the wizard instinctively ghosted backwards into the crib. When Harry had moved backwards, Tom was yanked forward and his small hands smacked into the cherry wood crib which he grabbed as a replacement.

Both took a moment to breathe. However, the wizard's breath soon paused as he made a discovery. After sparing a curious glance at his rolled up sleeve, he lifted the uncovered arm and wiped said 'discovery' on his hand only to realize that he was no stranger to this mystery liquid. It was slobber. Even as he wiped the slobber onto its last destination, his light slacks, his face refused to untwist itself from its disgusted expression.

After he was sure every droplet of the slobber was gone, he looked up and locked gazes with Tom who nonchalantly returned the stare.

Despite the fact that the eerie stare summoned no small degree of discomfort on Harry's part, he did nothing but frown slightly. After some time, Harry finally opened his mouth and asked "Why did you do that?" His voice was slightly slurred by the stubborn vestiges of sleep.

Tom looked irritated for a moment before smiling in a way that made it clear that he was utterly proud of himself for his achievement. "Waking up," was his answer.

It only took a moment for the look of bewilderment to morph into sudden and startling realization. "You were trying to wake me up by...kissing me?" He shuddered as he walked through the crib and picked up his hovering glasses.

Tom gave a firm nod and grabbed Harry's hand just as the glasses firmly nestled themselves on the wizard's nose. With a weak noise of surprise, Harry was yanked forward as the toddler dragged him across the room. He hunched over to accommodate the height difference until logic finally caught up and he drifted downwards until most of his lower body was hidden from view.

Even when Tom leaned down to pick up his snake and looped Hairy around his shoulders, he refused to unclasp his hand from the wizard's. His face remained serious as he turned to the wizard and told him, "I need to g-go..go pee."

"Go to the loo, Tom" Harry said, as was per their tradition. "Okay. I go pee," Tom said and dragged the resigned wizard along.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was working wasn't it? Green eyes stared intently at the back of Riddle's head, in a futile attempt to see the boy's thoughts and he watched the dark hairs bounce slightly with each step. It was only the click of Tom's shoes and the distant voices of the other inhabitants which hinted at the fact that life somehow managed to endure within this brick dementor of hope. Yes, it must be working. It had to work. The distant voices burst into childish laughter and seeped through the cracks of the cold bricks. Harry had little choice but to allow the voices to beckon him into a memory. The memory of when 'it' began.

It had occurred only 3 weeks after he had arrived in Tom Riddle's time and within the large yet cramped mess hall. Among the regular sized tables was a shorter one with sixteen seat settings. Yet all of the tables followed the same pattern as the walls; the table's themselves were made of cold and dark iron but the tops were covered with white sheets that were decorated only by stubborn stains. The chairs had a similar design. They too were made of iron but only the seats were covered with white fabric. Although Harry was certain the chairs would be cold and uncomfortable if it was possible for him to sit in one, not a single seat was empty.

Mrs. Martha, a young woman with a permanently bewildered air to her, stood in the doorway watching over them. Her visage held the sort of tiredness that made it appear that she would burst into tears with the slightest provocation and her body was beginning to show signs of weight loss. The food portions which were already small when Harry had arrived, now were steadily growing smaller and smaller but Harry had heard few complaints.

Many of the orphans sat hunched protectively over their food as they quietly nibbled at the meager portions. Occasionally, they would whisper to each other but most were focused on eating their food in a way that allowed them to catch the flavor and hold it until they had little choice but to swallow. The only inhabitants that seemed uninterested in imitating the atmosphere of the walls were the youngest children and toddlers who talked a tad bit louder yet still at a tame level. The orphan's identical drab grey tunics did not aid the atmosphere in the least.

At that time, Harry had been floating against one of the walls and looking blankly at Tom as he let his thoughts drift away. Even though the scene was a sad and hollow imitation of it, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of the dinner he had attended in his time.

Rather than recalling his frustration at the general dismissal of his scar's pain, he instead remembered the cheery moments. The happy yells of "He got off! He got off!" and the smiling faces who sung and spoke true words of happiness for his narrow escape made his own face light up with remembered joy.

Then his subconscious caught something so odd that it jarred him out of his recollections and forced his conscious self to look at its discovery. At first the scene looked entirely normal; Tom Riddle was just eating a grape like many of the other orphans. Unlike the others however, he was eating a grape with such delight that it bordered on ecstasy. Another grape reached his lips and abruptly the expression of euphoric delight twisted into a scowl. Wasting no time, he spit it out and glowered at it for a moment before grabbing another and placing it to his lips. Harry's lips quirked up in amusement. After some time, Harry retreated into his thoughts of happy dinners again only to be pulled out soon after he had done so. Again, Riddle's face was filled with nearly euphoric delight. Yet another green grape touched his small lips and Tom's expression mirrored Harry's own confused expression. It was at this moment that the thought which would change everything occurred to Harry; he figured the idea had little to no chance of actually working but he had always been a curious child so he let his Gryffindor rashness take control.

Meanwhile, Tom pinched a grape between his thumb and one of his fingers and gave it a suspicious look befitting of a Slytherin. Slowly, he raised the grapes to his lips and bit into its green flesh just as Harry summoned his memories of the dinner again. When Tom looked delighted again, he realized with no small amount of shock that his theory might actually be correct. As shock made way for excitement he let a grin overtake his face and waited with bated breath for Riddle to pick up another. Fortunately for Harry, Tom unhesitatingly grabbed another and plopped it in his mouth. This time the wizard summoned his memories of dementors. Riddle spit out the grape so hastily that a spectator could easily think he had bit into a juicy and particularly foul tasting bug.

Tom gave this one a particularity harsh look, as if it had personally insulted him, and grabbed its torn remains so tightly that its guts trailed down his fingers. He flung in a seemingly random direction and the grape landed with a wet plop on Billy Stubbs nose. Despite Harry's best efforts, he couldn't resist chuckling at the cross-eyed and baffled expression on Stubbs face; especially since it reminded him keenly of the more amusing memories associated with_ Dudlykins' _face.

Then Billy wailed so loudly that it would even impress Dudley and Harry's smile vanished. Needless to say, Billy's squall had no difficulty with capturing even the scatterbrained caretaker's attention. She gathered up her apron and jogged over to the small table while shouting, "Tom Riddle! Leave Billy alone!" When she reached their vicinity, the caretaker briefly tutted at Tom and picked up the blubbering and red-faced toddler. Tom glowered at them and only returned his attentions back to the grapes when the screams turned into weak chokes.

"Harry! Harry!" a young Tom Riddle said excitedly. Harry forced himself out of his stupor and watched the toddler run to him with inside out pants and a smiling face. When had Tom let go of him?

Before Harry could ask a single question, Tom stopped in front of him and excitedly told him, "Poop!" His smile faded and morphed into irritation when Harry gave him a questioning look. "_I_poop." This made Harry blink away his surprise, "Good job! Er— you're a big boy, Tom." Tom seemed to agree with this deduction if his greater than thou look was any indication. Harry's nose crinkled as he sniffed the less than pleasant air. "Did you wipe?" Tom gave him a blank look. "Toilet paper?" Harry clarified with a tone laced with amusement. Tom's eyes widened the slightest and he made an irritated noise before he ran down the hall. Harry laughed quietly and slowly ghosted after the tell-tale clicks of the shoes.

"Tom?" he asked from outside the green door**.**

There was no response. For a horrible instant Harry was consumed by the worry. What if something had happened to Tom? What if he had fallen off and knocked himself into a coma? This worry was easily consumed by a weak sense of horror as he realized he was turning into another Mrs. Weasley. Of course, he cared dearly for the overprotective woman but the idea that he was turning into her left him fighting off the urge to wince for his masculinity. He waited a few breaths longer before he finally ghosted through the door. Inside, he found Tom perched on the loo with his body twisted backwards as he reached for the handle. As the flushing noise began, Tom turned around and his gaze darted to the intruder. With an entirely unbothered look he jumped down and began his attempts to pull up his underwear.

"Let me help," Harry ghosted closer and started reaching towards Tom's hands.

"No! Me!" he swatted away Harry's hand as if it was an especially troublesome fly and continued his attempts to dress himself. With a bemused look, Harry obliged and ghosted backwards**.**

Tom had successfully gotten past the hardest part: stepping through the holes. Yet now he was making the mistake of only pulling up one side at a time. Harry took pity on the youngster; he moved behind Riddle and snaked his hands underneath the toddler's arms, as if he was about to embrace him. Tom stilled and his face hinted at how difficult it was for him to decide how to react to this violation of his personal space. This hesitation cost him for Harry used this opportunity to grab both of Tom's hands and use said hands to pull both sides up. Harry quickly moved backward just as Tom bunched up his fingers into fists and turned to face Harry. "No! Bad!_I_ do it!" Harry weathered the rebuke with yet another amused look.**"**Okay Tom," he said, while holding his hands up in surrender.

As he waited for the scowling toddler to finish, he looked around the cramped room. The light was decorated with many small cracks and had long ago become pregnant with a litter of bug corpses. On the wall above the toilet was an iron decorative piece of a laughing baby, which contrasted starkly with the white wall. However, it was not a happy piece: the baby's laughter appeared forced and its eyes seemed to switch between pained and utterly hollow. Rather than an orphanage, it looked like it belonged at Grimmauld Place with all the other unpleasant oddities. As Harry mentally tallied the similarities of the orphanage and Grimmauld Place, he couldn't help but pity Sirius for having to live at the Black estate; now that he had experienced what it was like to live in a place that reeked of constant gloominess. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black and grey blur dart for the green door which creaked from an abusive touch. The wizard's martyred sigh said more than any words could express. Slowly, because Harry knew Tom would be peeved if he was discovered quickly, he walked in Tom's direction. Harry enjoyed the normalcy walking provided anyhow so he was not bothered by the slow speed. Eventually, a gaggle of children headed his way and although months ago he would have darted in another direction, now he simply continued walking forward and shuddered as they passed through him. The children shivered.

It was next to the towering entrance door that Harry found the toddler sitting on the hard floor and valiantly attempting to put on the last article of clothing that he had taken off earlier: his shoes. If the expression had been on any other child, Harry would have panicked and began hoping he would quickly find a way to plug up the waterworks. Instead, he calmly walked over to the toddler and said, "Tom."

Tom looked up without his expression changing from overwhelming frustration. "Can I help?" Tom nodded slowly and lifted one foot. Harry crouched down in front of him with the same practiced ease as a servant. As one hand reached to support the lifted foot, Tom hastily moved the foot away. With a resigned expression, Harry looked up at Tom and said, "I thought you wanted help."

"Yes," Tom said yet, despite the words, he moved his foot away from the hand again. "You can't move your foot if you want me to help."

"No." Harry sighed loudly and Tom smiled widely; this had become a well known game months ago. Again Tom moved his foot, but this time Harry was fast enough to grab the squirming foot. Amused, Tom attempted to kick his way to freedom but Harry managed to keep his hold firm. After a few seconds of struggle, Tom stopped and the wizard reached for his holly wand with the other hand. Once a quick glance ensured no muggles were around, he intoned Wingarium Leviosa and with practiced ease he maneuvered the shoe onto the foot. With an earsplitting grin Tom shouted, "We-garim eviooosa!" The wizard stiffened and automatically responded with, "Shh!" The black-haired toddler looked offended at the command but obeyed. After another glance determined that they were alone, Harry spelled on the other shoe. Tom stared.

After both shoes were deemed secure, Harry stood while Tom continued to sit. The wizard soundlessly ghosted behind the toddler who automatically held his arms out in front of him; clearly they had done this numerous times. The teenager allowed himself to ghost through the floor to accommodate the height difference and placed his hands and fingers on top of Tom's. Slowly, their hands and arms lowered as one and reached for the shoe laces. After a bit of minor struggling, the shoelaces were tied and Harry proclaimed the job "Done."

Tom looked over his shoulder and with pure awe and admiration told the wizard, "Harry is smart." Harry smiled and Tom was just about to do so in return until he saw a boy with a very worn and tattered stuffed bunny walk up to them. The other toddler's shoelaces lay scattered around his dull shoes as he looked at Tom's tied shoes. With an expression of utter awe he said, "Wow."

Harry poked one of Tom's arms, effectively popping the ire from the young face, and the toddler craned his neck so he could give the wizard a curious look. "Tie his shoes Tom." Tom looked entirely unimpressed at the declaration. "As practice," Harry clarified.

Despite being clearly less than pleased, Tom stood and walked to the other toddler. Stubbs backed away."I tie_ shoes,_" Tom said and pointed to said shoes as if he believed the other orphan was too challenged to understand even that basic sentence. However, Stubbs was intelligent enough to remain unmoving as Tom dropped to his knees. Only a few moments after he began to fumble with the shoelaces however, Tom looked over his shoulder to the wizard. Understanding Tom's unspoken request, Harry again moved his body behind Tom's and joined their hands. A little time later, Tom said "Done," and hastily rose to his feet. Stubbs looked down and with pure excitement, shouted "Wow!" Tom glared and Stubb's smile instantly faded, which made Tom smile earnestly. The other toddler gave Tom an uncertain glance before dashing deeper into the orphanage.

"I'm proud of you Tom." Tom turned around and looked up at Harry with keen curiosity. Although he didn't know what 'proud' meant exactly, he felt the emotion Harry sent. As the implications of the emotion finally began to sink in, he gave Harry a pleased smile and his dark eyes brightened.

"Play," Tom ordered. Without even a sigh, Harry nodded and held out his hand. The toddler snatched the dark suit's sleeve and dragged the wizard through the already open door. Hairy the snake bounced against his small chest as he jogged from the colossal green door to the desolate concrete courtyard.

Behind them and the iron hold of the orphanage's looming gates, pedestrians passed by like long dead ghosts; their quiet steps and muted voices were far more fitting for mourning than a morning walk. Screech, the tip of one's pedestrians umbrellas screamed as it was scrapped along the damp sidewalk. It was a sound destined to be echoed in time.

A/N: For those curious about how long Harry has been with Tom now, he arrived in 1930 in January and it is now October for these last chapters. If you take out his periods of stasis he's only been there roughly 5-6 months. Thus, Harry hasn't been there long enough for any godfather/brother/fatherly feelings to completely solidify. By this I don't mean Harry won't have those feelings at the moment. I'm trying to say that the feelings won't be solidifying to the degree that it will be the only way he can see Tom. When he jumps forward it will feel like another version of Tom to him; a dream almost you can say.

Also Harry arrived a few months after the Great Depression hit. Considering this is the orphanage that eventually allowed Billy Stubs to have a bunny and sent the orphans on occasional trips, I'd imagine they were able to handle the depression a tad bit better than would be expected (that and they were probably already accustomed to rationing food out since Britain's economic state wasn't the best even before the depression). That's not to say they won't be affected; the orphans will definitely know hunger pains well, some caretakers will be fired and there would probably be some health issues (in the other orphans) linked to malnutrition. I spent several hours trying to look up said information but admittedly, history isn't one of my strong suits so if one of you history buffs see something wrong with this reasoning give me a heads up.

If anyone's curious about the dining room, I imagine it looks similar to this (it's an American orphanage's mess hall but I doubt Britain's typical mess hall was much different) http : / / digitalcollections . uwyo . edu:8180/luna/servlet/s/wajcsk


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed :]. For those expecting the reasons for Harry's situation to become crystal clear anytime soon: I'm afraid that although I'd like to be able to bluntly explain exactly what's going on I can't (unless you ask me to tell you in a pm of course). In other words, you're going to discover the who, whats and whys of Harry's condition with the characters. For those needing a recap, all Harry knows is an object that looked _like_ a time turner brought him to toddler Tom Riddle. The best guess Harry has about how he got here is that the object somehow ended up in his pocket when he was at the Ministry. You'll be able to figure out parts of it along the way but it won't become crystal clear until we're getting closer to the end. Feel free to guess and ask me for hints if you want though :].

HUGE thank you to AirElemental101 for betaing. If you look back at the past chapters you'll discover your eyes rejoicing from the lack of capitalization errors, punctuation errors and other such horrid things. Your eyes have her to thank :].

'Ching ching' slipped through the barely there crack underneath the window and wisped into a certain wizard's waiting ears. Said wizard's forehead furrowed as he wondered what a bike bell was doing in Hagrid's class and why there was muffled yells following the odd sound. However, when his curiosity urged him to look towards the noise to solve said mystery he came upon a yet another mystery instead: his eyes were closed**.**_ I bet that git, Malfoy, hit me with one_, he thought with clenched teeth only to be confused yet again, when logic pointed out that even if Malfoy had him with something that sounded like a bike bell then why had he not felt the impact?

Green eyes opened and were greeted by a blurry expanse of white. '_Oh…_' he thought as his memories rushed back to him and carried his state of mind back to its proper place. Immediately, his half-asleep senses discovered something curious and tugged his blurry gaze downward until his own left arm entered his vision. He didn't need his vision to know that this arm was rising and falling in a gentle rhythm to an unheard beat. A heartbeat in fact; for his vision validated his theory that under his arm lay the sleeping form of Tom Riddle.

Only Tom's black hair and not-quite-as-plump face peeked out from the blankets yet his small hand still managed to loosely grasp Harry's dark undershirt. Harry knew with certainty that if he looked down to see how the toddler managed this, he'd see the blanket running through his form. As Harry moved his left arm at a pace that even a snail would be embarrassed of, the toddler fidgeted and pulled at his dark blue undershirt. Harry didn't fight the tug and thus, entered even deeper into the toddler's rather warm personal space. With the arm that was not currently underneath the toddler, he attempted to discreetly move a lock of hair away from the toddler's closed eyes. The toddler scrunched up his face but did not wake.

With a soft smile he recalled how often he had seen this face. Although Tom had always been fine with hand contact, anything more than that had resulted in rejection. At first, this mere hand contact and other short periods of touch had been fine with Harry. However, as time moved forward he had been taken by surprise by the enormous growth spurt of his need for touch—or to have really any sort of contact with the world. He wondered how Headless Nick and the other Hogwarts ghosts had handled it—this horrible feeling of dissociation that nipped at his thoughts until he was certain that he was in mortal danger of drowning in it. It was only now that he understood how deep the sadness in Nick's voice ran when the ghost offhandedly mentioned how delicious the food looked during his first Hogwarts feast. Although Harry had never thought it possible, he had found a place he felt more like an outsider than at the Dursleys. At least there he could eat, drink, touch and be seen; even if the sight of him had been undesirable. Even the idea of being able to pee made him feel such an intense pang of longing that it bordered on ridiculous! If not for Tom to give him some relief from the side effects of his ghost life he wondered if he would have fulfilled those rumors that he had gone mad.

As he watched Tom sleep, he felt a twinge of guilt before a small voice reminded him that it was for Tom's good as well. So what if he used the connection they had to trick Tom into accepting the hugs? Surely getting used to hugs and such could only do the could-be-dark-lord some good._ I can't change things now even if I want to_, he told himself. After all, Tom had long ago taken the jump from merely accepting to demanding. In fact, Tom nowadays had a tendency to force Harry to curl up against him as he slept; thus their current position. Harry couldn't honestly say he regretted any of the actual results of his decision anyhow. Not even when his shirt had been drooled on to the point that he had barely resisted the urge to shiver or after one horrifying moment when Tom's possessive hold accidentally latched onto his throat.

Apathetically, the wizard watched his fingers be devoured repeatedly by thin black strands. Surprisingly, Tom did nothing but breathe in and out peacefully at this touch. Harry smiled and with more than a mere hint of pride thought,_ He really is smart._ Again the fingers slipped through the hair._ Very smart_. He felt his attention slipping into a memory.

Plop. A card with a barking but otherwise friendly looking black canine and the word 'DOG' landed on top of a card with an illustration of a group of smiling children. Two of the seven cards simply proclaimed 'I' and 'HAVE.' A green blob, grapes and an apple decorated the three remaining cards. A deck of cards with a simple grey decorative back laid an arm's width away from the spread.

It was such a common arrangement between the two that it was nearly mundane. Both Harry and Tom sat on the faded green carpet and so far away from the other toddlers that they were nearly nestled in a corner. Tom didn't even put up a twitch of a struggle as the wizard placed a hand over his own and began to puppeteer it. In no time at all, Tom's possessed hand manipulated the spread of cards into their desired positions. The card with the picture of a bunch of grapes and the bolded word 'GRAPES' had been dragged behind the 'I' and 'HAVE' cards.

Harry released his hold on the hand and asked, "What does this say?" Tom squinted at the lineup. "I...h-ha-ha-ve Ga—ga-ra-pee-sss". Tom looked up and sideways to where the wizard sat and gave Harry's face a searching look. The wizard smiled and with a firm nod said, "Good, now try this." Again, Tom allowed Harry to possess his hand to move the cards."I ha-ve-have- Fah—fah-er-end-s—" Tom looked confused at this. "Friends," Harry corrected.

"Friends."

"Good job," Harry said with a beaming smile and sent his emotion through the link. The words and emotion swept away Tom's confused look and left only a smile with an almost uncanny resemblance to Harry's own.

Again, Harry used Tom's hand to move the cards. Tom took a moment to mull over the illustrated card before saying, "I have Aw-ple!" His gleeful smile made it clear that he was certain he pronounced the sentence correctly. "Apples," Harry said and Tom's smile promptly dropped into a frown. "Awples," Tom said in a tone which made it obvious that he was certain it was Harry that needed a correction. "Apples," Harry said again. Tom glowered at Harry and shouted, "Awples!" The other toddlers looked at his face and bunched up fists with keen curiosity. Harry closed his eyes and racked his fingers through his unruly hair while just barely managing to swallow the beginnings of irritation. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and grabbed Tom's hand again. "Here, let's try this instead." Tom gave Harry a disapproving look but allowed the wizard to scramble the cards with his hand.

As Harry's hands were focused on moving the cards, his ears perked up and demanded that he sacrifice a portion of his attention so that it could pick up bits of the nearby matron's hushed conversation. Unfortunately his ears were not the extendable sort so all heard were a few words such as "genius," "Riddle," "brilliant" and "young." At first, all he felt was a surge of pride for Tom's well-earned accomplishment. However, this feeling was soon contaminated by worry. What if "brilliant" turned into "freak"? His own life made him keenly aware how easy it was for opinions to change after all. Even when he managed to push that worry away and mark it as foolish, yet another popped up. What if their praise inflated Tom's view of himself? Voldemort had been quite full of himself after all. What if his actions were only fulfilling the future and Voldemort's narcissism was his fault for allowing the matrons to praise him? Harry scowled deeply, now he was just being stupid. Really when had he turned so paranoid?_ Since you had to watch over a child that could turn into Voldemort,_a small voice said. He steadfastly ignored it and maneuvered a single flashcard of a black dog before the sitting child.

"Da-o-gu," Harry nodded and replaced the dog card with the green one. Once his hand was freed again, Tom leaned over the card and verbalized his attempts to read it,"Gu—gu-ru-en."

"What do I have that's green?" At the question, Tom focused his attentions on the wizard and his eyes darted from feature to feature like a panicked fly before finally settling on the wizard's eyes. He calmly pointed to Harry's face and said, "Green."

"What's green?" Tom instantly replied with, "Green eyes."

"Yes! That's right!" Harry clapped his hands and sent his pleased emotion through the bond. Tom clapped his hands as well and his cheeks dimpled as he smiled at the feeling.

A small body shifting and the sound of sheets crinkling tore Harry out of his recollections. As if sensing Harry's renewed attention, Tom languidly opened his eyes and stared half-lidded at Harry for some long moments. Nearly a minute had passed when Tom finally broke the contact by yawning so widely that his eyes teared up. While Harry used a finger to wipe the tears away, Tom reached for Harry's head and grabbed some of the black hair. "Ow," Harry said though his voice made it clear that he had become resigned to the point that he found humor in the situation. Tom made a quiet sound of amusement as he played with the hair but put up no struggle as Harry's hands detangled his fingers from the hair. "Out." Harry was well aware that this was Tom's code for going to the courtyard.

"Promise not to go out the gate," he stared in the boy's eyes for any indication of a lie.

"Promise," Tom said and lifted a pinky with utter sincerity.

The wizard's finger dwarfed one of the toddler's before he placed one of his hands under the toddler's hairless and covered armpits and lifted him out of the crib. Tom grinned and kicked his feet out erratically. With practiced patience and a wince or two, Harry warned the toddler, "If you keep moving I'm going to drop you." Tom continued his actions for a few more seconds before yielding to the wizard's implied request.

Sock-covered feet gently touched the hard ground. Tom wasted no time beginning his walk over to the door yet, when he reached the halfway point, he stopped and turned around. With a finger pointed at his crib, he looked in the wizard's eyes and said in a tone that demanded obedience, "Get Hairy."

"Please," Harry reminded him and forced himself to squish any irritation he felt at the order. "Please," Tom parroted Harry so well that the word remained as insincere as the original word. The wizard sighed and muttered, "Close enough." A few flicks of the holly wand later found the snake in Tom Riddle's possessive hold. Once the snake was deemed secure enough on his small shoulders, Tom finished his walk over to the door and looked at Harry expectantly. "Alohomara," said the wizard and the door opened with a click.

The duo quietly walked through the long halls and towards the looming entrance door. As they were approaching the over-sized green door, Harry grabbed the small arm just tight enough that the toddler was forced to stop. "Aren't you forgetting something Tom?" Tom looked at him curiously yet without a hint of anger and said, "No."

"Are you sure?"

"No!" he said as the curiosity on his face was eaten away by anger. "Don't you need to put on your shoes?" Harry said with an amused look as the anger drained from the young face until only confusion was left behind. "I need to—need to put sh-shoes."

"So you did forget something."

"No," Tom said firmly yet without anger. Despite Harry's apparent amusement, Tom did nothing but look at Harry like he was the one acting strangely. "Do you want me to put on your shoes?"

"Yes! Brother put on shoes," he said and began to sit down. "Then go get your shoes." Tom reversed his movements and with a nod, he rushed off.

Once Tom had retrieved his shoes, it had taken no time at all for the duo to put them on and tie the laces. The door was already slightly ajar so Tom walked into the courtyard without the wizard's aid.

"Remember our promise," Harry ghosted in front of the boy and put on what he hoped was a suitably stern look.

"Okay," the toddler said simply and sat down near the black gate. While the wizard continued to float in front of him, Tom tilted his shoulders until his snake plopped on the ground. Once that was achieved, he forced the stuffed animal to move in endless zig-zags over the concrete.

As Harry watched the mundane yet harmless game, he became increasingly confident that a certain worry which had sprouted months ago was just another foolish one. The seed of this worry had been the sudden realization that, although it was helpful that this strange connection allowed him to share a variety of emotions with the toddler, he couldn't help but worry why this change in the link had occurred. A horrific series of thoughts then branched off that seeded and went something like this:_This connection between me and Tom ... what if the reason it's grown stronger is that I have become more like Voldemort? I just feel so angry, all the time. What if after everything that I've been through, something's gone wrong inside me? What if I'm the reason Tom Riddle turned bad?_Since that fateful thought, he did whatever he could possibly think of to control his fits of anger. After some thinking, he decided that the link must have become stronger because this toddler version of Tom Riddle was more like himself rather than it being him, the boy-who-lived, who was becoming more like Voldemort.

Both Tom and Harry became still as a matron flung open the creaky entrance door and ran across the courtyard with her head down and tears streaming down her face. Unlike Harry, Tom quickly grew bored of her and returned his attentions to his snake._That makes three now_, Harry thought with a pang of loss and floated after her for a short distance. That matron had been the first adult he had met upon his arrival so he couldn't help but feel like he was losing someone important to him even though they had never spoken. Just as her form drifted out of his vision for the last time, he heard the sound of wings flapping overhead. The wizard managed to look up just in time to see an eagle owl scrambling for its footing above the bold and dark letters of Wools Orphanage. Then the owl did something no muggle had done yet, it turned its head and stared at Harry with such intensity that it couldn't possibly be a mistake.

He couldn't believe it. Had Dumbledore really wrote back? Had he agreed to meet with him at the Leaky Cauldron? It had only been two days ago that he had finally managed to track down a wizarding owl that was willing to send his hundredth or so version of the letter. Admittedly, even now, he wished he could return Dumbledore's cold shoulder. However, he had grudgingly admitted to himself that it was childish to allow his emotions towards the future Dumbledore keep him from asking for the younger version's advice. Not even the old worry that Dumbledore's cold shoulder could somehow be connected to his time traveling could bother him now because he was certain that he had changed the future enough to stop even that from happening (he tried not to let the implications of this linger long enough to start confusing him). If only he could convince the wizard that he really was a future student then he'd surely be willing to tell Harry why the surprise time travel was giving him worrisome side effects such as periodic blackouts. Then again, maybe there were normal side effects of going so far back in time with a time turner. Either way, Dumbledore would surely know the answer. He had to know. Harry needed him to know. Maybe he could even discreetly get advice about how to raise Tom without ever having to mention the Voldemort situation.

As Harry's hopes climbed higher so did his form until he finally reached the owl. The owl ruffled its feathers but did not break its eye contact with the wizard. Nothing. Nothing at all was on the owl's legs. The owl made a noise at him that could be considered comforting but Harry did not react to it. Instead, he floated back down to the ground with a dismal expression. His depression quickly morphed into anger. How could Dumbledore ignore him? Again he was asking for information and Dumbledore refused to give it! Then rationality returned to him and his anger turned inward._He doesn't know who I am, why would he believe a student of his from the future was turned into a ghost from a time turner?_He thought._But how else would you have known about the Mirror of Erised. His answer may have been a lie but it was something only Dumbledore would have said,_a small voice seemed to say._He must have thought the letter was a prank... If he doesn't respond I'll just have to send another and another until he can't ignore me anymore_Harry decided._It doesn't matter how long it takes for me to find the owls, if I can get him to reply_...The sound of wings cut his thoughts short. Almost in a dazed fashion, he watched a forsaken feather drift onto one of the stakes atop the gate.

If only Harry had not been distracted by the stakes and grim gate that brought memories of prisons and godfathers, he might have heard the cold gate's shrill warning and perhaps been able to prevent what was to pass.

Click, click. The sound of nails on unforgiving concrete was death's greeting to the boy-who-lived and the could-be-dark-lord.

Perhaps it was even Harry's thoughts of his godfather that summoned the creature to them, for the creature could easily be a doppelganger of Sirius Black. Only dull and untidy strands of black hung off of its emancipated body and its pink tongue was lolled, almost comically, out of the side of its mouth held ajar. Drool dripped from its jaws while it continued to pant. As it entered further into the bleak courtyard, one trembling paw tripped over another paw and the dog whined softly. When the creature lifted its large head, fathomless grey met darkest sort of brown eyes. As its prey stared at it, the dog spared a glance behind its shivering form and tucked tail before inching its way to the child. The child, already bored of the dog, was now looking down and petting a stuffed snake. A faded green collar hung from its scruffy neck and had a silver name-tag which glinted weakly in spots. Every letter of its name lay buried under grime, yet the grime was perfect for completing its grim appearance. So Grim became its new name.

There was a whimper, perhaps of pain or regret, but it mattered little for in the end the Grim stepped closer. With a frown, Harry dragged his gaze down and gasped. It was not the emancipated state that he first noticed but instead the grey fathomless eyes that Harry could have sworn belonged to his godfather. For a moment the pained grey eyes met green and although it was foolish, he allowed hope to billow up inside him and force his lips to mutter a pained, "Sirius." Yet, the only thing to flicker in the eyes was not the desired recognition but rather hesitation. The trio breathed in and then it happened. The Grim lunged and so did the wizard. His wand remained by his waist as the worst and most primal sort of panic made him forget about its existence. "Tom!" the name was garbled by panic yet the toddler still looked up towards the wizard. The young face furrowed as his gaze flickered from feature to feature of the panicked face.

Green. The world turned green as lightening shot past the toddler. Seconds later, something bumped into the toddler's back and he flinched.

"Sirius," Harry attempted to mutter again yet grief strangled his voice at the same time that it seemed determined to strangle his heart. His heart seemed to break under the stranglehold as it stubbornly refused to listen to his mind's repeated declaration that it was not his godfather that his accidental magic had killed. Then, he really did break. Yet the scream of agony remained clogged in his throat, choking him, while only his wide green eyes spoke of the horrific pain. The world wouldn't be ignorant of his agony however, for Tom dropped to the ground and screamed for him.

They writhed as one as their nerve ends continued singing and ringing with a song of pain. Harry's very blood seemed to have turned into blazing red fire; contained only by his skin and bulging veins. He wasn't certain what was worse; this or being forced to endure crucio under Voldemort's wand. Just like then, he wanted it to end…to black out…to die_._The world obliged; the pain stopped but it was not without a price. A price Tom Marvolo Riddle would never stop paying.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Shakily, Tom rose to his feet and stumbled across the pavement. A small amount of blood seeped through his scratched hands as he reached towards the wizard. "Harry," he croaked. Yet when his slightly bloody hand gripped the wizard's own, the sounds of the world were slowly eaten away by static and the wizard's hand began to gradually slip through his fingers like mud. Startled, he let go and looked at the hand and then the slightly distorted form of the wizard with an utterly confounded look. Just as the sounds of the world were almost completely restored to him, he reached again and again and again. Each time he tugged on the hand, the wizard jerked forward until the warm and human touch of the wizard gradually slipped through his fingers. Eventually, the sound of static grew so intense that he was forced to stop. Tom decided it was the dog's fault and he jerkily walked towards its limp form. Anger bubbled incessantly under his skin and roared with the demand for revenge and pain. So he kicked the dog.

"No! No! He—" Tom paused and furiously pointed to the floating and distorted figure of a wide-eyed boy-who-lived. "MINE!" He shrieked to the dog as his body trembled in remembrance of the wave of pain both he and Harry shared. "You hurt Harry. Now you HURT!" Again and again, he kicked the dog until his dull shoe become colored. "Wake up! Hurt! Hurt!" he ordered as his body continued to tremble.

"What happened?" said Mrs. Martha as she ran towards him. "Are you—" she began until her widening eyes took in the scene and she hastily dragged him against her chest and away from the fallen animal.

"No!" he yelled while squirming and hitting every portion of her in reach. Shock forced the matron to release him. He faced her and pointed an accusing finger to the dog.

"Bad dog!" he shouted while anger distorted his features. Suddenly his face evened out until he appeared calm once more. While looking down at the blood that now stained his dull shoes he softly told her "Bad dog... hurt Harry so I hurt dog."

He looked up again when he heard Mrs. Martha take a loud intake of breath. He tilted his head and gave her widened eyes a curious look.

She looked at the unkempt dog and her voice trembled as she asked, "Did the dog bite you Tom?"Again she looked at the toddler yet, her expression made it clear that she was certain that she was seeing him for the first time.

"No" Tom said in a tone that made it obvious that he thought she was asking as stupid question.

She wrung her dainty hands and bit her lip repeatedly under Tom's unwavering stare.

"Wait a mo' Tom," still, her voice continued to shake. Without waiting for any sound or gesture of approval from the toddler, she darted into the orphanage and shrieked, "Mrs. Cole! Mrs. Cole!"

The toddler looked at the wizard again. "Brother," he said as if Harry was a child that had just been found sticking his hand in the forbidden cookie jar. Again he tried to get a firm hold on the wizard but this time, he withdrew his touch so hastily that the movement seemed almost violent. "Harry!" he growled and tried again. His eyes began to tear from intense frustration as he reached for the wizard again and again. Yet, no matter how loud he yelled the wizard's name or how tightly he tried to grip the wizard's outstretched hand, Harry Potter did not breathe.

A/N: If you didn't catch the hint, here's another: think about what Avada Kedavra does to the soul. That should help you realize what one of the mechanics behind Harry's condition is now ;].

I'm guessing that some of you are wondering why I didn't simply start off the story when Tom was older. It won't come up specifically in the story itself since it deals with muggle science so I'll explain now. The reasoning for the age choice is that there has been some talk that if there was a way to excite the underdeveloped portions (amygdala and such) of the brain linked to psychopathy then a treatment could be created. I had Harry go to Tom when he was 3 because Tom would be least resistant to the link at that age (he had a knack for the mind arts even at a young age so this was important) and it would allow the deformed portions of Tom's brain to develop _a bit _so they start to resemble a normal brain. Thus, the reason I had to write toddler's despite my difficulty with remembering what my nephews (and other children) could and couldn't do _exactly_ at that certain age.

Lastly, if anyone's confused why tom stiffened when Harry invaded his personal space in the last chapter if he's supposed to be fine with it; it's because he was angry at Harry during that moment.

Edit June 10: So to summarize; something that looked **_like_******a time turner is what brought Harry to this time. This device requires some other 'mechanisms/ingredients' that regular time turners don't need. Harry casting the Avada Kedavara (which damages the soul) and fading as a direct result of that, shows that 'soul' is one of these 'mechanism/ingredients'. Harry is only in Tom's time because of the device so when something happens and damages one of the mechanisms it uses, whatever that mechanism is responsible for is effected. The fact that Harry didn't completely disappear shows that 'soul' isn't the only mechanism the device uses. …..I hope I didn't confuse you more *laugh*. I admit I tend to over think things. If you want more information or want to yell at me for making the device itself so complicated, feel free to pm me or ask me in a review :].


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed :]. For those of you less aware about what exactly psychopathy entails, you'll need to read this in order for Tom's reactions to make complete sense. Psychopaths can feel egoistical emotions (in other words they can feel happiness for themselves, pity for themselves ect) but what they can't do is feel those emotions towards another person. In other words, they can't, on an emotional level, honestly care for another's welfare. It's not because of lack of trying; it's a biological _impossibility _for them. They can be taught how to pretend to care but they can't really _care._ However, they can feel fond about something; they just can't truly care about how said something feels. Fortunately, magic can make the impossible (at least in current times), possible to a degree, but it will be clear that Tom has embraced his psychopathy while Harry's been knocked out.

Also sorry about the month long wait for an update; unfortunately life had gotten busy for both me and my beta so the wait was a direct result of that. Unfortunately this chapter is still unbetaed since AirElemental101 is unsure when she's going to get the chance to finish the last few edits. Hope you find this chapter worth the wait.

Dark lay motionless under the ever-present light. Moments later, eyelids fully closed and shunned away the vision of the white ceiling. It was in this darkness that he waited and waited for what appeared to be no end. Figuring he had been forsaken yet again, he turned his head and looked at the dark bricks.

It was dark and a chill haunted the gloomy room. Tom rose halfway and his blankets pooled around his middle as he looked around the room. A meager amount of moonlight managed to slip into the room and chase the darkness into the small sanctuaries of hidden corners and Tom Riddle's bed. The lack of light hinted at what had forsaken him: sleep.

_He will never wake._ The thought circled in his head like a trapped mouse yet he refused to believe it; to think it. He smashed the mouse with a mental foot, moving said foot back and forth until he was certain not even a squeak of it remained in his mind. It was a foolish, silly thought. _He will wake up._ With a cold hand and an expressionless face, he grabbed the scratchy sheet and squeezed until his unseen irritation filtered through the abused fabric. Now that the fabrics purpose was served, he roughly threw it aside and into the brick wall. It crumbled uselessly onto his bed as he placed his sock covered feet on the floor. It was cold, yet his black feet were colder.

Perhaps Tom Riddle really did have a monster under his bed for behind his feet and in the shadows of his bed laid a long and still tongue. The two beady eyes which gleamed above the tongue made it simple to think that the organ was only temporarily resting. However, the most common deduction would actually be that the monster seemed to be long dead or long forgotten by all; except for the spiders and their pale webs that had been spun long ago. It was likely that Tom Riddle was already aware of its existence considering the height of his bed made it impossible to hide trinkets underneath it.

Yet, he did not spare even the slightest glance at the creature as he walked the short distance to wall that was opposite of his bed. A quiet pat pat had accompanied him on his journey. Dots of darkness were not the only things that had found sanctuary against this wall. Accompanying them was a still and floating body which had remarkably enough, managed to fight the natural erosion that the passage of time tended to befriend. His gaze flickered to section to section of the shadowed body yet he showed no signs of disappointment at the lack of change.

One cold hand reached out towards the defenseless human but the hand only dove into the messy hair and allowed the dark strands to run through its fingers again and again. He smiled and with a type of softness in his eyes that could be mistaken for tenderness, he told the body a cold and harsh truth, "I could hurt you." He continued running his hand through the dark hair. "I've hurt them...the others. Do you remember me telling you, Harry?" he grabbed a lock and tightened his grip until his knuckles turned pallor. For a moment it seemed he was about to tug the hair, to prove to the body how easily he could damage it if it suited his fancy, but he decided to simply release the hair instead. The fingers, which had just moments ago held the threat of pain, now smoothed down the hair**,** as if pacifying the hair to forget it had ever happened.

"Why don't I want to hurt you?" He seemed to mutter to himself. "Why are you special?" The darkest sort of brown looked into glassy and unfocused green. "I should want to hurt you," he said however he appeared completely unworried at the development. In fact his whole demeanor showed that he treated the situation no differently that an adult might be to a strange fact.

His hands paused and his full focus became directed towards the eyes that should have long ago dried out and decomposed into nothingness. "Your eyes are pretty Harry," he said as a spark of fondness appeared in his eyes while he started to run his fingers through the hair again. He leaned down, as if to give a kiss, yet he never closed his eyes to the wide green eyes that were frozen in horrific pain. "I can see you. Can you see me Harry?" He paused; waiting for the answer which never came and pulled back. "The others look at me like that too, sometimes," he laughed lightly and his eyes filled with mirth as if he was sharing a joke with the breathless man.

Gently, he placed a hand on the warm cheek and stroked it with a tenderness normally seen between lovers.

"You will wake up." Another pause. "Soon." Never mind the fact that he had been saying roughly the same thing for years. Slowly, his hand moved away from Harry's cheek and quickly grew frigid again. Again, the pat pat of the covered feet was heard as he walked across the room yet this time a click chased the last pat-pat. Light flooded the room and Tom squinted as his eyes rebelled against the sudden invasion. Yet, he did not wait until his vision had secured its victory to walk over to the desk which was adjacent to his bed and half-blindly reach for the thick book that lay on the surface. With the book secure under his arm, he crawled onto his bed and leaned against the metal railing as comfortably as he could. The silence was only displaced by the irregular flips of the thin and slightly yellowed pages.

"Ow," Harry said with a groan as his hand rose to his forehead in a futile attempt to ward off a headache. The child gripped his book harshly and looked up.

Despite being twice the age of the reader, the revived wizard's wandering gaze and befuddled expression made him appear to be the younger of the two. However, there was a simple explanation for the teenager's bewilderment. His naked face had long ago become stripped of its glasses and the tears that the bright light called forth surely morphed the already blurred world into a place nearly as incomprehensible as a pitch black room. Without his glasses, the wizard was as weak and helpless as the child he currently appeared to be.

In the tone reserved either for sleepiness or a bad hangover the wizard mumbled, "What happened?"

Tom felt a twinge of joy at the long-awaited awakening before he brutally crunched it under his mental foot; forcing it's dying screams to give power to his rage. He did not want to be happy. He should be angry at Harry for sleeping for so long. He _was_ angry at Harry for sleeping for so long.

Politely he asked the wizard," Are you done sleeping?" It was only the sound of a book being brutally slammed shut and thrown onto the neighboring desk that hinted at his rapidly declining mood.

The wizard had jumped at the sudden nose. "Tom?" he sounded like a lost child as he squinted in the direction of the bed.

Tom chuckled, not dignifying that with a comment. Then the chuckle choked and a few tears slipped down his face. His dark eyes widened in shock as he noticed the very odd and unpleasant alien feelings that had created those tears. The wizard had done this somehow. It had to be the wizard he decided with mounting fury. These feelings…..the panic, the despair, the overwhelming relief and utter joy at seeing the wizard happy and alive again…it was not normal.

"Stop this now! I hate you!" he said while wiping face furiously with his grey pajama sleeve. The alien joy and relief refused to detangle from his true emotions.

Harry's change between merely confused to worried became audible as he progressed through the sentence, "Tom? What happened? Are you hurt?"

The child clenched his fists and shouted, "Make it stop! Do it now!"

THUMP.

The child had jumped on the hard floor. His feet beat harshly against the cold floor, mirroring his sudden fit of rage that pounded under his skin, demanding release, as he stalked over to Harry. The child towered over the ghost with an expression that surely intended to make the ghost cower into submission.

The rather blind wizard clearly had long ago lost his fear of the could-be-dark-lord for he responded to the child's approach by quickly reaching and embracing the child tightly. Tom stiffened as his rage and tears froze while shock slipped into the empty spaces they left behind.

Time acted as flame that eventually thawed his rage free of it's of prison but the tears did not revive. He hated these feelings. Hated that strange version of joy. Hated that it felt like he just might start crying _again_ and what he hated most of all is that he did not understand HOW the wizard managed to trick him into feeling these emotions. He did not care. He never _cared_ about anyone else. It should not even be possible for him to feel like this. Then a horrible thought occurred to Tom: What if he couldn't get rid of these emotions?

"You're not dead," Harry breathed in relief as he tightened his hold on the stiff child. "You're alive."

"Dying happens to other people." How could the wizard not know this? Did the wizard really think he, Tom Riddle, would die?

Harry buried his head in Tom's shoulder and gave a weak smile that fortunately Tom couldn't see. Tom stiffened at the movement. He wasn't going to cry on him was he? He did not like tears. Why was he allowing this?

Although most of him simply didn't want the wizard crying on him there was admittedly a quickly growing portion of him that also didn't want Harry to be unhappy. A portion that actually…_cared_. He didn't understand! How could he care? Caring was an emotion of the weak! He was not weak!

"I'm sorry," Harry said and Tom roughly pushed him away. Surprise forced the emotional hurt to remain visible for several moments longer than it otherwise would have**.** Yet, it didn't matter that it had taken so long for Harry to hide it away. Tom had decided that all he cared about was making these horrible feelings go away before he did something as weak as _crying_ again. After all, he was certain that the hint of regret he felt couldn't have been his own so he steadfastly ignored it.

"Don't say sorry! You don't understand why you should be sorry," Tom said with contempt. Did the wizard really think that a simple apology would make up for all those years that he ignored his order to wake up and for tricking him into thinking these fake emotions were his?

While wincing and holding his forehead the wizard said, "It's my fault that you were alone. Because I had faile-"

"So? I did not miss you," his voice was hollow of emotion just like his face. He did not care that he was left 'alone'. If the wizard continued being so annoying perhaps he'd like to be 'alone' again.

With the eye that wasn't half covered by a hand, Harry squinted in a vain attempt to see Tom's features better. "How old are you?"

"Seven and eleven months," he boasted as an annoying tear fell down his cheek.

"4 years," Harry whispered to himself in disbelief while tom wiped his face with his arm again.

"Yes," Tom said as another fit of barely restrained anger pounded at his skin with such intensity that his body shook from his efforts to contain it. His arms were now glistening in spots from his previous attempts to eradicate the few silent tears from his face. While his hands clenched erratically, his dark eyes locked on Harry's neck.

"Accio glasses." His voice suggested that he was enduring a small amount of pain. However, the pain clearly hadn't dampened his seeker skills because he expertly grabbed the airborne glasses and placed them on his nose.

"Tom," Harry said softly and unintentionally sent Tom's predatory gaze away from his neck.

Their eyes locked. Before Harry could utter another word, Tom shouted, "Shut up!" He hated the wizard, hated the way the wizard made him feel. This…feeling. He dared not call it something as disgusting as _affection_. It was not normal; he did not _care_ about anyone. These were not his emotions! Caring was for the _weak _and _foolish_. He refused to be either. The wizard was just a tool like everyone else; a tool that he could hate and hurt. Yes, he hated him. He hated the wizard for doing this to him; for trying to trick him.

"I hate you. Everyone I hate should hurt." Even as he said it, he knew in his hearts of hearts that he didn't truly want to hurt his wizard. Again he grew panicked and deeply confused; he did not care if his wizard was _hurt _or not! The wizard was only a tool; a favorite toy at best!

"You don't," Harry said confidently.

Tom's mouth parted slightly but no sound escaped from it for another sound entered the room first; a muffled female yell. Thoroughly distracted, Tom closed his mouth and did nothing but frown at the door.

The wizard, fortunately a professional at evading trouble, ghosted next to the boy and said, "Accio Hairy." Tom looked down and gave it a long empty stare before reaching down and strangling the creature's neck with one hand. As the door opened with a creak, the boy stared into the glassy green eyes with an intensity that would be expected of a hypnotized person.

The frazzled woman opened her mouth to speak but Tom beat her to it. "I was yelling at Hairy," he said while he continued to stare intently into the snake's eyes. His hand continued to strangle the snake as he turned to the nervous woman and lifted his snake as if to elucidate his point.

"You haven't touched that old thing in years Tom," she said in almost a whisper. The cobwebs that still clung to the snake proved her point to be true. "Are you crying?" The thought clearly bewildered her.

His face morphed into an expression befitting of a scared child. "Bad dream." He held himself as he had seen the other kids do when they were scared; in a guise of comfort. _Go away_, he thought. "Did I wake you? I didn't realize..."

The woman looked down. "No," she said softly while wrenching her hands together again and again**.** "But be mindful…"

She looked up and gave him an anxious glance before sighing and continuing, "Be mindful of the noise Tom; you'll wake up the babies and the other children."

He stiffened the slightest at that idea as he continued to hold himself. "Of course Mrs. Martha," he said with the tremble expected of recently frightened child. With a slow nod, she looked away from Tom and shut the door as hastily as she could without making it slam. Tom dropped the act and smiled at the closed door.

"Feeling better?" Tom's smile abruptly dropped into nothingness.

The child stared at Harry dully before turning on his heel and opening his wardrobe which creaked under the abuse. His head quickly became lost in the identical hanging drab clothes as he began to hunt for something.

As Harry floated behind the boy he stumbled across something rather curious. A box. "What's this," he asked but the child ignored him in favor of his search. With the aid of his wand, Harry started to lift the box and thus, make the items inside it noisily hit each other. Recognizing the noise, Tom pulled his head out of the clothes and glared at the wizard. "That's mine!" he hissed and snatched it possessively to his chest.

"What's inside it?" The wizard clearly wasn't expecting to find anything special within the box.

"My things. Don't touch it."

"Can I see-"

"No. Shut up," he said with a sneer. "But I'm you're little brother," Harry reminded him. "You're not my brother**," **Tom said calmly and with a 'better than thou' look that wouldn't have looked out of place on a Malfoy. After a pause, he said, "I don't need a brother."

After the boy roughly pushed the box back into its hiding spot and poked his head into his clothes again, Harry asked, "If I'm not your brother... then how about your friend?"

Slowly Tom drew his head and arms out of the clothes and gave Harry a wary look. However his Slytherin nature gave him a suggestion that instantly made him very interested in this strange offer. "Teach me magic and you can be my friend."

Harry threw Tom's wand hand an uncertain look before he warned**, **"Spells are hard to learn."

"I'm ready," Tom said simply, swatting away the warning like a troublesome fly. He had used Harry's wand while the wizard had slept after all so he _knew_ it wouldn't be too hard. It mattered little to him that the only magic he had successfully done all these years was shooting some sparks out of the wand's tip.

"Alright," Harry said after some time and held out his wand.

A wild, ravenous smile stretched across Tom's face as he reached for the wand. He was going to do magic!

"I was thinking we could try Wingardium Leviosa." Harry gave Tom an uncertain look but all Tom did was nod quickly**. **He had no complaints about learning his favorite spell first.

"Right. First you need to learn how to swish and flick."

"Why?"

After a moment of thought Harry said, "The spell won't work if you only say Wingaridum Leviosa. You need to move the wand correctly while you say it for the spell to work." Again Tom gave Harry a firm nod.

"Ok. Let's start." Harry ghosted behind Tom and covered the child's hand with his own.

"Swish and flick," he said while leading the child through the movement. Together, they murmured "Swish and flick" and repeated the movement until it finally began to feel mindless.

"Think you got it?" Harry asked.

Tom nodded. "Don't get frustrated if you don't get it right away. It even took me a while to get it right. Okay?"

"Okay," Tom parroted.

"Alright. Give it a try." Tom did try but his movements were jerky due to his haste to create some magic. "No, like this." Again Harry grabbed his hand and showed him again. "Try again." Several corrections later and Tom finally seemed to have it down.

Harry wrapped his hand around his student's yet again. "Alright, now let's say Win-_gar-_dium Levi-_o_-sa." As he said the spell, Harry forced the hand to complete the movement. Once the snake was floating several feet in the air, the wizard let go and the snake plopped on the ground.

"Wingar-_di-_um Lev-_i-_osa," Tom said and flicked his wand after he had finished the incantation.

"No, you do the movement _as_ you say the spell. Try again," Harry encouraged. Tom glared at the wand.

"Wingar_di_um Lev_i_osa!" he shouted as he swished and flicked in a rather sloppy fashion.

"Much better. Try Again."

"Wingar_di_um Le_vi_osa." His movements smoothed out a bit more.

"Say Win-_gar-_dium Levi-_o_-sa. You have to drag out the gar," Harry said.

"Win-garrrrr-dium Levi-_o_-sa".

Harry's smile slipped into his words as he said, "Not quite that long." Tom frowned disapprovingly at him; he had felt that spike of amusement.

"It's not funny." Although the child wasn't anywhere near rage, he was clearly irked enough that the wizard quickly banished any sign of his amusement.

"Sorry. Do it again."

Satisfied, the child continued. "Win-_ga_-dium Levi-_o-_sa," he said. However, now that he was focusing on the words, his movements became sloppy again.

"Good! You were close that time. Remember to swish and flick."

Tom did it again, yet his movements remained sloppy. Tom forced the wand into Harry's hand and with an accusing voice he said, "You broke it."

Harry raised his brow at the accusation and flicked the 'broken' wand while intoning, "Win-_gar-_dium Levi-_o_-sa." The snake rose. Tom's frown turned severe and he held out his palm to the wizard.

Harry didn't quite manage to hide his smile as he returned the wand to his student however, Tom ignored it. The snake fell.

Again and Again, the child repeated the incantation and movement yet the snake refused to even twitch. He grinded his teeth and his knuckles began to whiten around the wand.

"Do you want to know how old I was when I learned this spell Tom?"

Tom looked at him but said nothing.

"_Eleven_. And it took me a _long_ time to do this spell. You're doing very, very good."

Tom smiled at the praise; he already knew that he was better than Harry but the reminder was pleasant to hear. He continued his attempts.

It took one more of Harry's demonstrations of how 'broken' the wand was and roughly another 15 minutes for the wizard-to-be finally succeeded in making Hairy the snake twitch.

"Harry did you see? Did you see? I _did_ it. _I_ made it _move,_" he finished just as Harry shouted, "Good one!" Soon after Harry's shout, Tom felt a sudden spike in his happiness yet he felt no need to reject it. Then he felt something else: pride. Again, he felt no need to reject the feeling. Suddenly, he yawned widely**. **

"Time for bed," said the wizard.

"No. I want to make the snake fly now."

"Later Tom. You can practice more in the morning."

"Now," he demanded.

"_Tom_. What time did I say?"

"Your time is stupid." He gritted his teeth.

"_Tom._" Harry clenched his hands so firmly that it was fortunate he didn't have long nails otherwise he would certainly be bleeding.

Just by looking at the wizard, Tom knew he was pushing Harry too far so he bit out, "Later."

"Exactly. Give me the wand". Tom opened his mouth but Harry was quicker. "_Now Marvolo_. Give me the wand and go to sleep."

"Why? I don't need sleep."

Harry glanced at the window; perhaps he was worried that he would strangle the child if he looked at him any longer. Through clenched teeth he said, "Yes, you do." Then, Harry came across a stunning realization. "You haven't slept at all have you?"

"I slept."

"Liar."

Tom scrunched up his face in an attempt to think of an argument but ended up simply repeating, "I slept."

"_Marvolo_. Wand _now._"

Tom held the wand close to his chest and caressing it with the other hand. "No." If not for the small affection he showed the wand, he would have appeared emotionless.

Harry closed his eyes. Through gritted teeth he said, "Give me the wand or I won't teach you any more magic."

"You promised," he reminded Harry with a hard look.

Harry opened his eyes. "And you promised that you would be my friend. Friends listen to each other Tom."

Dark brown and green clashed yet both refused to submit. Instead, they acted like a strange type of mirror. Both males clenched their fists, straightened their back and gritted their teeth yet while Harry tried to withhold his raging irritation, Tom allowed his to breed like a hungry flame. Thus, Tom's ire grew until it was impossible to stop it from channeling through the link even if he had desired to stop it. Harry winced from the slight headache the impressive ire gave him. Meanwhile, Tom unclenched one hand to stroke the wand. It was thanks to this extra ire, which Tom unintentionally gifted him with, that Harry became the more stubborn one and thus; the victor. This became apparent when Tom flung the wand at the wizard's face.

Promptly after throwing in the metaphorical white flag, Tom picked up his web-covered snake and threw it against the wall next to his bed. The snake landed quietly just as Tom jumped into the bed. He turned his back on the wizard and hastily covered himself with his grey blanket. As he waited for his anger to completely retreat or for the wizard to go away, he watched a spider scuttle down his snake.

"Night," said Harry. Tom pretended to already be asleep yet he kept his eyes open to glare at the brick wall. Perhaps the bricks would melt if he stared long enough.

The wizard muttered something too quietly for him to hear and suddenly his snake was miraculously clean! His nagging curiosity made it impossible for him to remember his attempts to appear asleep so he moved one hand forward and stroked the snake. It really was clean. Again, and again he stroked the snake and before he knew it, he was smiling. He couldn't have known that the snake's eyes had appeared the brightest they had in several years.

With the beginnings of a smile, the wizard whispered, "Nox". The room fell into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Voldemorts POV in the 'dream' are directly taken from Deathly Hollows chapter 17.

Zana20 suggested that I explain psychopathy in one go rather than in little pieces as I was doing and after some thought, I realized that probably would be a bit easier. Although I tried to keep this as simple as possible, psychopathy is a complicated and conflicted subject so in order to give you a decent, realistic explanation it's going to be complicated to a degree. It's long so I put it up on my LJ instead:

h t t p :/ / umbrellawarrior . livejournal . com/659 . html

oo and Ms-Trixie: His 'sleeping' tendencies are directly linked to the device that brought him to Tom's time. It will become clearer later on in the story but if you want an explanation now, send me a pm or email and I'll answer your questions :].

Since it's come up quite a bit, here's a quick reminder: the nature of Harry's time travel and the device won't be clear until later on. Unfortunately, that's a necessity for this fic.

Thank you for the support :].

This chapter is currently unbetaed so sorry about any grammatical errors you find lurking in here.

Parseltongue: **Tom**

"_Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

_He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all ..._

_A green light flashed across the room and his mother fell with a loud noise. He pressed his face against the bars as he stared at her prone form and wondered when she would stand up again. Any moment now she would…._

_Something moved but his mother did not. Quietly, he watched the cloaked figure walk towards his crib._

_The house creaked under the figure's footsteps yet he only vaguely noticed the noise. After all, most of his attention was focused on the black cape that floated noiselessly behind the figure. His fingers clutched the bars of the cribs tighter as he stared into the shadowed face with bright interest. _

_A wand was pointed at his face yet it was only when he saw red eyes flash from the shadowed face that he knew that it was a stranger. He cried, wanting his father or mother to hold him again._

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_And then he broke. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped screaming, but far away ... far away ..._

_The house had crumbled noisily around him some time ago and his cries had already turned into screams. Screams that were born of a feeling he knew should not belong to him…..should not be experienced by him…a lesser feeling…_

_His heart pounded. Then he was in pain; pain worse than he could recall and he closed his eyes tightly; as if shutting his eyes shut would make the pain halt its attack. His face became wet as he shrieked at the top of his lungs; he needed to be held. He needed to be safe._

Warmth. It was the first thing his senses noticed and it was also the 'thing' that he wanted—no, needed—most desperately. Closer; he needed to get closer to the warmth and become safe. He snatched at the warmth greedily and made it his own.

The body was smaller than it should have been and his own trembling limbs felt larger than he could recall them ever being but he quickly decided neither of these things were important as he tugged the body closer and entwined his legs around it. He released a shuddering breath as the body's warmth invaded his chilled one and chased away any feelings of alarm. Yes, he was safe, he decided as he sniffled and nuzzled his head blindly into what should have been a chest but curiously enough, was not. He opened his eyes and realized that he had been correct in thinking that what he felt was not a chest for it was black mop of hair that he had nuzzled into. Tom pulled back, clearly confused at the turn of events until, finally, reality returned to him and he hastily pushed the wizard away. The wizard drifted away from him like a beach ball atop calm waters until the not-quite-ghost was hanging halfway off the plain bed.

As he watched the recently moved body, he became aware of his body's faint trembling and the snot that just barely kissed his upper lip. Hastily, he raised his arm to wipe the snot on his sleeve and shifted on his bed. This made him become aware of an even more annoying type of wetness that lay underneath him.

One of the other children must have somehow found a way to make his bed wet again; he was certain of it. After all, there was no chance of it being wet from….his own bodily fluids. None at all. With a growing smile, he realized they would have to be taught another lesson. Fortunately, he quite liked teaching; especially when his students were irritating pranksters. He even fancied himself becoming a teacher one day…

In no time at all, he placed his sock-covered feet on the hard floor and began his walk to his dresser. After all, why would he wish to waste another second of what was to surely become a fun day?

In fact, he was so hasty to begin the day that he had already stripped himself of his soggy shirt while he had walked over to his dresser. His pants dropped on the ground with a wet sound as he stood in front of the worn dresser.

The wooden doors opened with a shrill creek but he paid it no mind. In little time, he had replaced all of his soggy garments with a grey tunic and other dull garments. The clothing was aggravatingly itchy; as it always was. He glared at his bland wardrobe; if only one of the other orphans had a better set he could claim it. It was not fair; he deserved better than this.

As he attempted to scratch away his clothing's itchiness, he noticed an even greater itch. It was simple to guess at the cause for starkly against his arm's pale skin was its bright red cause: a spider bite. With a scowl, he scratched the bump yet his efforts only made it turn and even angrier red. He wanted it gone, _now_…..and after a moment he realized he knew just how to be rid of it.

With his hand still covering the bright red bump, he turned and stared at the floating wizard. Harry could not refuse him. After all, the sleeping wizard owed him after he had lied those many days ago. He clenched his teeth at the memory as he walked to the wizard's side.

Yet his anger was distracted by another sensation; a sensation that crawled under his very skin. This sensation was a new yet, already hated feeling. He shut his eyes as if it would make the feeling crunch like the pest it was and fall into death's arms. Yet, it survived his attempted murder.

He opened his dark eyes and stared at the wizard's closed lids. It was a horrifying, disgusting emotion. However, he couldn't let the wizard know that he….his lip curled…_cared_; the wizard would use it against him. It was only fair after all; those who were pathetic enough to keep their weaknesses should have them used against them. It would be for the best if the wizard disappeared yet….he did not want him to leave. No, the wizard was his. He was the only one that could see the wizard after all, so what else could that mean other than that the wizard was made solely for him?

It would be rude to leave Harry uneducated of this truth so he leaned to the wizard's ear and murmured, "You are _mine,_ Harry." He pulled back and frowned as he found his wizard to still be asleep.

Yes, the wizard was a weakness. However, he was a weakness that none of the others could touch and of course, Harry would never be allowed the knowledge of his weakness…..so the wizard's existence was agreeable. Besides, the wizard was not without his uses…at the memory of said uses, the emotion reverted back into simmering irritation. How dare Harry still sleep? If Harry was made for him then shouldn't he be awake?

He slapped Harry's covered arm and ordered him to, "Wake up."

'''''''''''''''''''''

A grayish blur was all Harry's barely open eyes could make out before his attention was drawn to another of his senses: touch.

SMACK!

"Wake up," said a demanding and strangely familiar voice. Before the groggy wizard could blink, the small hand slapped his tingling arm again. "Wake up," the child repeated as the wizard winced.

"You hit me?" the wizard croaked and his eyes widened in surprise as he digested the possibility that his question was a fact.

"Yes, now get up," the child said unrepentantly and lifted his hand in preparation to strike again.

Harry latched onto the blur. "Don't hit me Tom". He tightened his grip on the arm in warning to the child. Tom sneered at the nearly-blind wizard in reply. Believing his point had become clear, he ghosted around the room in a blind search for his glasses.

"Why not?" said Tom to the wizards hunched back. The wizard turned and faced Tom with a perplexed expression.

"Why am I not supposed to hit you," asked Tom; anger lurking just under the surface of his words.

"Because it hurts," the wizard nearly muttered with an increasingly confused expression.

"So?"

"You're not supposed to hurt people," the wizard said slowly, as one would speak to a slow child.

The child grew silent.

But the silence was not to last. Barely half a minute had passed when Tom pointed to his arm and ordered, "Fix this."

"Fix what?" Tom's arm was nothing more than a pale blur.

"The spider bite. It's annoying; make it go away."

"I don't know the spell." _Or if there even is a spell._

Tom fell into moody silence and soon, the wizard continued his search. Click, click, click…the orphan's shoes continued to make as its owner walked on the hard, light-colored floor. Only Harry's subconscious took note of the child's position because he thought it would be silly to be vigilant in the presence of a mere seven year old. Even if the seven year old was Tom Riddle. It was due to this, that Harry startled when something was shoved in his vision and accompanied by the words, "Here."

The 'something' was his glasses. "What? oh...thanks." Disbelief and joy smothered him as he placed the glasses back in their rightful place. At first he was hesitant to believe Tom had done it out of kindness and even more hesitant to believe he might actually be succeeding with his self appointed mission. However, no matter how hard he tried to think of another reason, none apparated into his conscious thoughts.

The wizard remained ignorant of the child's stare for when he looked up; the child had already turned his attentions to the window and clasped his hands behind his back.

Softly the child asked, "What are you going to get me?"

"What?" he choked out as if the emotional punch to the stomach was physical. Did Tom have a selfish reason after all? Had his efforts been for nothing? No, they couldn't be…he couldn't stand the thought of the alternative. Not even now….when the child before him had changed so much that Harry, at times, felt as if he was in the company of a stranger.

The orphan turned towards the wizard and inspected him briefly before saying, "It's my birthday soon. Friends give each other gifts. I know they do; I've seen the others do it."

_That's it?_ _I was worried about nothing then. Wait… What did he mean by 'others do it'? Doesn't he have friends?_ Flashbacks of his own lonely days at noisy playgrounds and classrooms filled his thoughts. No, he wouldn't let Tom endure that experience any longer. _I'll be the best friend Tom Riddle could ever ask for. _

"What do you want?" Harry said half-expecting Tom to say something he would have to explain he couldn't get. What even _could _he get for Tom? The harsh reminder of his ghostly reality quickly dampened his spirits.

"That," Tom said and pointed to the wizard's chest. His heart? Harry hoped confusion wasn't going to become a constant for him as he looked down.

"My wand?" he was surprised again when the child nodded. Belatedly he realized how obvious it was. Any child would probably ask for the same thing.

With no small amount of regret, he said, "I can't give it to you, Tom." A wand was practically a second heart to a wizard!

"I _want_ it," he stressed.

"I _can't_. I need-When you turn" was interrupted by another, "I want it."

"When you turn elev-"

"I want it**." **

Harry sighed, "I'll think of something." He'd also have to get around to telling Tom about his future trip to Ollivanders but not now, it was clear that the (nearly) eight year old wasn't going to listen anytime soon.

Tom looked satisfied, as if he thought he somehow won the argument. He probably did. Harry shook his head, amused, before walking (or pretending to anyhow) the short distance and held out his wand.

The child lifted his hand yet he gave the wizard a wary look as he reached for it; perhaps he thought it was a sort of trick. With a raised brow, the wizard said, "I promised that you could practice when you woke up didn't I?" _Paranoid brat_, he thought fondly.

Tom snatched the wand from the hand and steadfastly refused to look at the wizard. Harry himself felt slightly irked at the apparent cold shoulder but was more amused than anything.

"Wingaridum Leviosa." The snake slowly rose. Tom smiled as did his wizard who shouted, "Good!"

Tom looked at him strangely, as if he forgot the wizard was there, before smiling in a way that lit up his dark eyes.

Another 10 minutes later the snake was still being bewitched and flung into various objects-the wall, the window, the wardrobe….admittedly this worried Harry slightly but he shrugged it off as merely rough-housing.

A stomach growled and both of the room's occupants looked at the source. Yet, Harry had settled on looking at the stomach with keen amusement while Tom glared down at his covered stomach. The snake plopped to the ground. "Stop it," he said irritably when his glare refused to make the grumbles cower into submission.

Tom's grip on the Holly was loose so Harry, seeing his chance, plucked the wand from Tom's grasp. Immediately, Harry felt himself being scrutinized.

"Go eat." Tom gave the wand a longing look but finally obliged after giving Harry a final searching look. He walked to the door and raised his hand to twist the doorknob.

_That was strangely easy. _

As Tom's hand covered the doorknob, a larger and warmer hand covered it. Tom inclined his head slightly but his face reflected no interest. In fact, his face held no expression at all.

"I'm proud of you, Tom," said Harry while sending the mentioned emotion through the link. Tom looked dazed as he nodded slowly and entered the dark hallway. Harry followed.

''''''''''''''''''''

He only barely withheld a chuckle as he caught sight of Mrs. Martha. It was rather curious that he was the only one that seemed to see past her pathetic attempt at sternness and see the weak woman underneath. If he was to sneak behind her and whisper 'boo', he was certain she would faint from fright. But he did not mind the others' blindness, no, it merely meant that he alone would be enjoy the amusing show that the woman didn't even realize she was playing for him.

The line for breakfast was not long but then again it almost never was. Everyone here received the same meal so there was little reason for the line to be anything other than quick. He stepped forward and discovered that today was scrambled eggs (a bit of eggshells wouldn't be an unusual addition) and toast that most likely bordered on stale—it was one of the better meals. He frowned as he noticed the last apple had been given to a girl, or rather a woman, several bodies ahead of him. If his guess about the unfamiliar heart-shaped woman was correct (and his guesses were certainly always correct) then she'd be quite easy to trick. Others would say that she appeared to be 'kind' yet he preferred the truth: she was weak.

He watched her like a cobra would to a particularly juicy mouse which hadn't scampered nearly far enough to be deemed safe. The early bird gets the worm was a frequent phrase here at Wools orphanage however, Tom Riddle decided he didn't quite like the idea of the phrase applying to himself. Besides, why would it? He was not a bird. He was simply a poor snake trapped in a noisy birds nest.

She had sat at one of the tables closest to the walls. What an irritating girl; if only she hadn't sat so far away from his table he could have simply used Wingradium Leviosa to bring the apple to him. At that moment, he decided he did not like her. A few more steps later he claimed his milk (though it was so diluted by water that an upper-class child would believe that it was simply murky water) and began his walk to give the new girl a 'greeting'**. **His steps began confident but as he was a few paces away from the woman, his steps became slower and gradually gathered more hesitance. His face, which only emotion had been a brief flicker of annoyance, now adopted an anxious expression. Considering how often Mrs. Martha used the expression it was not a surprise that Tom had long since mastered it. It was supposedly an uncomfortable expression but he had never understood why the others thought so. It didn't feel uncomfortable.

The older girls on the side opposite of the woman gave him looks of either curiosity, pity or suspicion. He looked at the suspicious girl and simply widened his eyes and quickly looked at the ground.

There were a few pieces of eggs but otherwise the floor was clean. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her eyes softened into a sort of strange emotion in-between suspicion and pity. It was easy, too easy almost…..

It was amusing how some of the older children decided that he was a misunderstood child after they heard the rumors. Some even said that he was the one that he was bullied and framed because they had never caught him in the act. Yes, he was misunderstood but that could not be helped. They, the others, would be too weak to ever understand him.

He tapped her shoulder, startling her and said a courteous, "Hello."

"Hello," it sounded a bit breathy. He smiled slightly.

"You're pretty." She was average at best. As expected, she looked taken aback at the compliment and blushed.

"Oh. Thank you…."

It was clear what she was asking for so Tom promptly answered her question, "Tom". He hated that name; how could of his mother had given him such a disgustingly average name. Couldn't she tell that he was meant for greatness? Mothers were supposed to sense those sorts of things about their children weren't they? She could have at least given him a proper name before she went and died. He clenched the side of his tray a little tighter.

As Tom pretended to look at her plain hair with heavy interest, she glanced down at the snake which hung limply from his neck as if it were a prize. In a way, it was. "Can I touch him?" Tom pretended to be surprised, as if he had just been snapped out of a trance. "No," he said firmly before looking abashed. "I'm sorry," he said in a rush and ducked his head as if hiding a blush. "He doesn't like to be touched by strangers," he explained and attempted to look at her. Attempted because his head was still slightly bowed.

"Oh, it's alright," she said kindly.

Quickly, he raised his head and pretended to look taken aback at the words, "No, its not!" He looked down at the snake lying on his chest. "**Apologize to the lady Hairy".** A moment later he looked up and said, "He says sorry." She looked surprised. How curious …Why was she looking at him like that? He did not like not knowing. This woman did know the meaning of the phrase sorry didn't she? Then again, she didn't look very intelligent…

The heart-faced woman smiled softly at the boy and his snake, "Its okay Hairy. I forgive you".

He cocked his head down towards his chest as if listening for the snake's whisper. "Hairy says thank you".

"What's your name?" she asked in a gentle tone suitable for talking to a skittish animal.

"Tom." He ducked his head again as if embarrassed.

"Thank you Tom. My name is Mary," inwardly he sneered at her. She was just an average girl with an average name. Was there anything interesting at all about this girl?

Slowly he raised his head, as if he was fighting embarrassment. "It's nice to meet you Mary."

"Why don't you have an apple?"

"They ran out," he faked a sad expression though it wasn't too hard. To be honest, he was actually a little sad that he hadn't gotten the apple that was owed to him. The woman's eyes took on a look of pity.

"Oh. Do you want mine? I'm not really that hungry?"

He blinked at her and furrowed his brows in mock confusion, "Really? I can have it? You'll give it to me?"

"Here," and thus Tom Riddle got his apple. Slightly bruised and battered though it was; it still was a beautiful thing to the nearly eight year old. After all, at least it wasn't soggy like some of the other apples he had been given.

"Thank you, Mary. You're nice," he said with a smile.

She smiled back, foolish enough to believe that was a compliment. "Shoo now. Go and eat before your eggs turn cold."

Of course, he had no interest in staying in her presence any longer than necessary so he happily obliged.

Once he sat at his usual table he looked at his wizard out of the corner of his eye. Currently, Harry was floating above the table with a face reminiscent of someone who had just sampled something yet was still unable decide whether they favored the taste or not. Curious. He would have to remember to ask why later.

With that decided he slid his black snake off his shoulders and placed it on the table.

"Freak," a boy muttered to his left. He didn't need to look up to know who it was but he looked at the boy anyhow. He was a tall child with an overly large nose that looked like it had been rammed directly into a wall (Tom wouldn't be surprised if it had been) and small, unintelligent eyes. Tom did the polite thing, he smiled at the irritant. Dennis looked irritable in return and for a short moment, the boy's light brown eyes had widened a bit more than they normally did.

"You're not a freak," said Harry; his tone making it clear that the statement was nothing less than a fact. Tom glanced up at Harry's floating body and only barely kept his eyes widening in surprise. Those green eyes, which had been glazed over-dead-for years, now seemed to crackle with barely suppressed rage. It was…beautiful. Tom instantly decided that he liked this Harry would hurt others for him (and him alone). As he should.

His recently discovered good mood became clear as he said a pleasant, "How are you, Dennis?"

"None of your business."

Tom raised a brow at the remark. "You're supposed to say 'I'm having a good day, thank you very much. How are you today, Tom.'"

"I don't care."

"That's rude."

"I _don't _care."

"_Poor _Dennis. Your mother must have known you'd become such a rude child and decided you _simply_ weren't worth the effort. Perhaps, if I procured a dictionary and an etiquette book for you then she might come back?"

Dennis's mouth flopped open and closed several times before he finally managed to shriek, "Freak! I'll kill you!" His chair screeched as he stood up.

"Kill me? In front of Mrs. Martha?" he allowed his amusement to show. A few of the surrounding children snickered.

Dennis sat back down, mumbling unintelligibly. Good boy.

As Tom ate his meal he considered what he should do next. Clearly, Dennis needed another lesson and he could have very well been the one that made his bed unpleasant this morning. Yes, it must have been Dennis. He looked at his snake and said, "**Harry.**" The surrounding children glanced at him briefly before most of them returned to their conversations. A certain red haired boy (Ash, he believed was his name) refused to look away. Instead he looked at Tom with deep interest. It was beginning to irritate him….

"What?" said Harry and Tom was snapped out of his trance. His hair stood on end as he sensed the wizard's silence approach.

"**Wand,"** he whispered low enough that it could be taken as mumbling. Still, the boy refused to look away. If that boy looked at him like that much longer a fly would surely fly into his mouth. He hoped one would.

It took several seconds longer than Tom thought it should have but Harry finally handed him the wand. He slipped it under the table and onto his lap.

"Wow that's…so…wow, that's Bloody Brilliant Tom! Do it again!" the boy, Ash, finally said. How odd, he couldn't recall giving that boy permission to say his name.

"Your snake thing," the boy explained.

Tom stared at him and slowly pointed to his snake "This?" What was the moron babbling on about?

"Nah, that's boring! It's just a boring old stuffed animal. Who would be interested in that..." The boy choked on his breath and stared at Tom with wide, green eyes. Perhaps he had only just remembered who exactly he was talking to and the rumors surrounding said person."N-n-no offense….its c-cool! I guess. I m-meant the hissssssing."

Luckily, Harry explained before Tom's brows burrowed deep enough to give him permanent wrinkles, "You were speaking in parseltongue. Snake language. It's….a wizard thing."

The young parselmouth looked as if he had just stumbled across the hidden location of a forbidden yet highly desired cookie jar. Hastily, he directed his attentions to Hairy the snake and spoke again.

"**This?" **

The annoying boy looked like his Christmas had come early. Which was fitting since the boy's dark green eyes and short, red hair gave the impression that he was Christmas in human form. If the child had parents, they surely would have been worried about the look of utter adoration he gave the could-be-dark-lord as if Tom had just revealed and proven that he was Santa Claus himself.

Tom noticed some of the children giving them sidelong glances.

"Yeah! That! Do you like snakes too then? My brother said he'd buy me one when we leave this place." He bounced in his seat which squeaked in protest.

Tom glanced at his food, wishing the conversation was ending.

"Yes. I like snakes too."

The boy gave a toothy grin. There were eggs in teeth. Despite his disgust, Tom managed to force on a polite smile before he continued to eat.

"Brilliant," the annoying boy said in an awed voice. "I'm Ash."

Tom slowly looked up from his meal and looked directly at the boys dark green eyes. "I know." The boy blushed and mumbled "idiot". Tom chuckled; the funniest things in life _were _true after all.

With his left hand he managed to grab the fork and eat some of the eggs while he watched Dennis out the corner of his eye. Currently, Dennis was shoveling scrambled eggs into his overly large mouth. Perhaps he'd finally choke…..

"Wingardium Leviosa," he muttered lowly and completed the movements under the table. A glorious cry of pain greeted his ears yet his overwhelming joy was sullied by an irritation he knew couldn't be his own. The plate clunked nosily down on the covered table.

"I like your new look Dennis. It suits you," he said with an honest smile as the others around them laughed. Really eggs and water-milk was a stunning combination for his sandy blonde hair. He had always thought Dennis was a chicken on the inside; now he was one on the outside as well.

Suddenly, he felt the Holly wand being snatched from under the table and frowned up at the wizard who frowned back. However, before they could say a word to each other they were interrupted.

"You!" Dennis shouted at Riddle, pointing a finger at him. Was that supposed to scare him? He resisted the urge to laugh and slipped on an expression of innocent confusion.

"Me?" he said innocently.

"How'd you do it freak!"

"He's not a freak!" scowled Ash as pieces of half chewed egg fell from his mouth. Tom wasn't able to decide whether to give him an amused or disgusted look. He settled on both. Dennis on the other hand, rolled his eyes before promptly returning his attention to Tom.

"Riddle," Dennis snarled. At that moment, Tom decided he would have to levitate plates more often; this was beyond amusing.

"Me? But I wasn't anywhere near your food. Don't blame me just because you're clumsy."

Dennis gave a cry of rage. Pieces of egg rained down from his sandy blonde hair as he darted to his feet. Tom remained unmoving even as Dennis dashed over to him.

Or at least, Dennis attempted to. "Dennis!" Shouted a petite and freckled girl-Ann-who grabbed Dennis's arm. "Don't do it."

"Dennis!" echoed Mrs. Martha.

"Ann," his small eyes narrowed at her as growled. She cowered under his glare.

"Tom. Come," Harry ordered while tugging on Tom's shoulder. After finding no reason to argue, Tom grabbed his snake and apple and obeyed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Martha give him a suspicious glance. "**Let go,"** he mumbled yet Harry didn't release his bruising hold on the shoulder until they were several corridors away from the noisy chatter of the cafeteria.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Why did you do that," Harry hissed; if he hadn't been overwhelmed by fury he would have been horrified by his nearly overwhelming urge to hit the boy.

A part of him he preferred to deny the existence of, seemed to whisper words of terrible and mangled logic into his ears: _Wouldn't it be good if I gave Tom a good scare? Made him realize how big of a mistake he had made? I could make him regret betraying my trust in him…. it wasn't my fault for handing him the wand….no, it was my fault… _Luckily, the last train of thought continued and allowed him to resist the tempting advice. Soon, he felt a wave of horror that surely wished to wipe away any evidence of those earlier thoughts. No, he couldn't, he would never hit Tom. He, Harry Potter, would never do such a thing.

"He deserved it. You know he does; you were angry that he called me a freak too." His lack of fear and smug expression made Harry's rage crawl back to life.

"It doesn't matter if he's the biggest git to ever live. He's a muggle!"

"So?"

"You can't use magic on muggles! "

"Why?"

"It's against the Statue of Secrecy!" A moment later he added, "The law!"

Tom glowered; Harry expected him to say something along the lines of "that's stupid" any moment now. Carefully, he pushed his still present horror and irritation to the side so that he could focus on summoning up another emotion: guilt. Fortunately, it wasn't too hard for Harry to summon up the emotion; after all he was quite familiar with it. He sent it through the link.

Apple juice dripped from Tom's fingers as he sunk his nails into his newly won prize. Its flesh shone weakly in the dim light. However, his prize wasn't to be mutilated further for his grip slackened as his face was overtaken by an expression of complete and utter calm.

Tom's gaze darted to Harry's lips, as if he was expecting words to suddenly fall from them, before leisurely returning back to his green eyes. The distant sounds of the mess hall were then covered by a question that seemed loud in comparison: "What's a muggle?"

It was amazing how such a simple, innocent question could be such a slap to the metaphorical face. Of course, even Tom Riddle wasn't born understanding what a muggle was. With that realization, the three year old child that Harry had unwilling left behind finally became easier to see in this new Tom Riddle.

"Non-magic folk," said Harry, suddenly thinking back to the fateful day he had met Hagrid. Tom tilted his head slightly, as if a curious thought had materialized in front of him. Before Tom could air the thought Harry said, "I'll be back later."

He needed to go away, far away and unwind before he talked with Tom again. Even now, he was shaken by how vicious his thoughts had become; how they became so utterly unlike him yet so like Voldemort or Uncle Vernon. Maybe…he had always been bad on the inside. Had Dumbledore known? Did Sirius? His friends? No, he decided. He couldn't be bad. He couldn't…..right?

The wizard disappeared into the ceiling and continued to float upwards until he reached his destination: the cobweb infested rafters. It was there that he shook his head, as if he thought he could shake his worries free and leave them forever trapped in the ever plentiful cobwebs.

It took him a bit of time to find a particular rafter but in his defense, cobwebs made horrible markers especially for any period longer than a few months.

"Accio letter," the letter zoomed over to him before it stopped within his chest where it hovered for a moment, as if in indecision, before gliding down until it was just in front of his stomach. Harry turned his wand to his stomach and rapped on the letter quickly. Although the letter didn't mesh with the background nearly as well as Moody's disillusionment charm could achieve, he still felt proud of his spell work. After all, it had taken him quite some time to actually figure out how to do the spell since his only encounter with it was so brief. The letter continued to fall. "Wingardium Leviosa". The letter obediently rose from his knees, to his stomach then finally back to his heart.

Carefully, he maneuvered the letter above the heads of the oblivious orphans (except for one girl that glanced up when the paper rustled slightly) and down the curling stone staircase until he finally reached an impasse: the large green entrance door. Both Harry and the letter floated about half way up the great green door.

Underneath the duo, a small group of whispering children huddled so close together they resembled a large grey blob. The whispers were punctuated by various gasps or whispers yet it did not stop Harry from quickly becoming bored or stop his arm from feeling tired. As he was beginning to mull over whether it was normal for a ghost's (or whatever it was he was) arm to feel tired, the gaggle of children finally moved down the dark corridor.

After a quick glance ensured the ghost was clear, he whispered, "Alohomara." The door opened just enough for a large fly to buzz though. The letter began to glide down, slicing the air as it descended. "Point me Diagon Alley," again, he needlessly whispered. His wand obeyed without pause. Quickly, he took note of the direction before hastily turning his wand and renewing the levitation charm.

It was only a few short minutes later that he found himself floating a mere block away from the Leaky Cauldron. The airborne wizard lowered himself to the concrete and hoped that he had not been a ghost for so long that his attempts to walk no longer appeared believable. Unfortunately, there weren't any wizarding robes at the orphanage (he wasn't certain if he could wear the robes anyhow) so he hoped his formal clothing wouldn't capture too much attention. Meanwhile, he focused on keeping the letter flying high enough that he was certain not even Hagrid would have been able to reach it.

It was surprisingly quiet for Christmas time. In fact, it was so deserted that by the time he reached the famous brick wall he was able to simply walk through it without fear of discovery. Surely, the other side would be bustling with activity.

The odd and bewildering sight that greeted him clearly declared he had just jinxed himself. The normally bustling street would have been deemed 'empty' if not for the small clusters of wizards and witches that were scattered along the street. Unconsciously, he tensed up in anticipation for the regular fan-attack that he received in such places yet he relaxed seconds later when he realized no attack would be coming in 1933. Here, in 1933, he would finally be 'Just Harry.' It was impossible to resist a smile.

Familiar names dotted the long cobbled street—Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, the Cauldron Shop (The cauldrons outside was filled with candy canes of various sizes and colors) and his favorite: Quality Quidditch Supplies were all in clear view from the entrance.

There were festive Christmas lights whose constant blinking drew his attention to the roofs of the shops. On the roofs were pine cones with enchanted snow that sparkled at odd intervals, candy cane's whose red strip's curled up and down their white length, small humanoid figurines which danced on the rooftops and countless other decorations. He ducked as a miniature reindeer soared over him and towards a rooftop on the opposite side. Harry unconsciously held his breath as he wondered if the deer would make the jump.

It barely did. Its small, glittering hooves had hit the enchanted snow on the roof yet its hind quarters dangled precariously off the side. Naturally, he rushed to save it but by the time he ran over the small creature had already pulled itself on the roof and lifted its head and tail haughtily before it pranced off yet again. _Prongs…_

A crinkling sound quickly drew his attention behind him and he barely resisted the urge to curse. How could he forget? He whispered the levitation charm and lifted the letter high above the roofs and thus, out of the path of any stray reindeer.

As he walked down the cobbled road, he continued to discretely point his wand upwards from under his dark suit. Despite his desire to look inconspicuous, he couldn't help but turn his head ever which way (like he had during his first visit) in hopes that he would catch a glimpse of all of the festive decorations. No, he had to stay focused. Somehow, he managed to ignore the allure of the twinkling ornaments and jogged past a small wizarding family in his haste to spot a certain shop. Just barely, he managed to resist a whoop of joy. Eeylops Owl Emporium was already established!

A not so small bit of guilt gnawed at him as he realized what this discovery meant but he quickly swatted it away. He might not need to use one of their owls. After all, surely there would be an owl in Diagon Alley that would be willing to send an extra letter.

The sound of wings overhead drew his attention upwards yet again. A small barn owl had soared into the neighboring Daily Prophet office. It had begun.

Thirty minutes later, Harry worried he might scream or tear out his hair in frustration. Surely, he must have just set the record for owl pecks and scratches (if he had a body) in 30 minutes. Surprisingly he only received a few of those pecks in the Post Office since nearly all the owls there were either exhausted or otherwise occupied. Though, there were a few that were as nasty as a Hungarian Horntail (he pitied whoever had to deal with one of those them). Luckily for Harry's owl hunting, the Post Office clerk had fallen asleep with his upper body sprawled comically over the counter. Though lucky was a poor term since he still hadn't found a single owl that was willing to send a letter (for free anyway).

An especially kind couple walked down the now slightly busier street. After swallowing his pride, he began to approach them. The Dursleys had always mocked beggars; especially the most desperate looking ones. He supposed it was fitting that he was about to become one. Already, he could hear their snide remarks and see the sneers twisting their already ugly faces. Malfoy would definitely join in the fun. After forcing down the scowl that automatically sprung up at the thought of Malfoy, he looked at the two kind-looking faces.

"Happy Christmas," he said brightly to them. "Wait! Could—" he touched their shoulder and his hand fell through. He blinked at it, before deciding to blame temporarily insanity for forgetting that he didn't have a physical body.

He jogged a short distance in front of them. "Sir, Ma'm, _please_, could I borrow an owl. It's-". They walked through him. Harry stiffened in shock. Could they not see him? No, wizards had to be able to see him! The owls had seen him before; Tom could see him! He ran to a stern looking witch. "Ma'm." Then a portly wizard "Sir!" An elderly witch "Ma'm!"

"Look at me!" he ordered with a tinge of hysteria and waved his hands in a way that surely would make him sanity appear questionable. Not a glance.

His heart froze; an attractive witch walked through him but he paid her no heed. "No, No," he muttered to himself. It couldn't be as bad as it appeared to be. He would not-could not panic. Maybe they were all squibs? He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the thought. They couldn't all be squibs!

A sudden thought made him stand stock still. Couldn't Filch see the ghosts at Hogwarts? Gradually, a frown tugged at his lips as realized he wasn't certain that Filch could. He hoped that Filch couldn't. Maybe he was right to think that they all had been squibs.

Sure enough, he spotted a wand in the pocket of an approaching and grim faced man.

"Sir!" Nothing.

For a few moments, he simply stood there as he let the horrifying thought sink in properly. A small group of wizards walked by, making idle chatter as a small boy toyed with a flyer and made the paper rustle…._paper? _He frowned at the thought. His letter!

"Accio letter!" It zoomed directly at him from where it rested on the ground. He squinted at it as its mostly camouflaged form floated; it appeared to all be there. Harry sighed with relief. Dumbledore would forgive him if it had a footprint or two.

It seemed like it was time to nick an owl after all. However, first he levitated the letter and placed it on the roof's enchanted snow. With the letter now safe from discovery, he finally approached a barn owl on one of the perches outside the shop. It ruffled its feathers and squawked at him as if to say 'what'.

"Hello. Could you take a letter to…," the owl turned away. He scowled at it's turned back and tried the other perch and cages. One simply squawked at him, another seemed determined to nip his body parts off and yet another hissed at him. In a moment of childishness, Harry hissed back. The owl hadn't reacted in the least.

There was still two more. With a heavy sigh he begged, "please". The owl screeched before bobbing its head in another direction. "I suppose that's a no." he muttered with acute bitterness.

One more. "Hi. Would-". The owl shifted; underneath it was an egg. "Nevermind," he sighed. The owl made a noise he though of might have been an attempt at comfort. "Thanks," he mumbled in case it was.

Into the shop it was. If Harry had listened close enough, he would have heard the faint plink of small raindrops hitting the outdoor cages. Fifteen minutes later he left the shop looking like a ruffled owl himself. His eyes widened to the size of one once he saw the scene outside.

"NO!" he floated up to the rooftop. "No, No!" The letter was definitely ruined. He kicked the roof; nothing reacted.

_Idiot! How could I forget to use Impervius? _

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered as he sat in the fake snow with his face buried in his hands.

When he finally felt calm enough to look up again he found himself blinking from surprise. In front of him was a small owl turned multicolored from the various Christmas lights. It clicked its beak at him in a friendly way that Harry immediately translated as "Hey there!" and bobbed its head up and down in a way that gave the strange impression that it was jumping for joy.

Just barely, he managed to stop himself from screaming at the owl and blaming it for taking so long to arrive. No, it wasn't the owls fault. It was his fault that the letter was ruined. The wizard sighed heavily and with that, it seemed like the last ember of his anger was snuffed out.

"I used to have—will have—a pet owl." The owl cocked its head, as if in interest. Harry decided to spare himself a headache and stick with past tense. "Her name was Hedwig". The small owl it's flapped wings and for a second Harry's heart clenched at the thought the owl was leaving him already. However, the owl was merely coming closer. It lost its festive coloring in the process.

After a moment, he attempted to pet it. He felt nothing but the owl preened so he continued despite how strange it felt to be petting what felt like air. "She was my friend." Carolers began to sing in the distance; their familiar songs just barely audible over the faint chattering of the shoppers. Briefly, he stopped moving his hand. "Ron…he's my best mate, he had an owl like you." The owl preened; though he wasn't sure if it was from his words or because he had just begun to pet it again.

Plink….plink, plink.

If only he hadn't heard that noise or seen the owl ruffling its feathers he wouldn't have noticed that it had begun to sprinkle. The tiny owl made a noise of discomfort.

"I suppose you have to go then?" he said tiredly; sounding more like an old man that was reluctantly seeing off his grandchildren rather than a mere teenager. Again the owl ruffled its feathers. "It was nice meeting you then. My name's Harry by the way. Harry Potter," He tried to smile but his face gave up halfway from sudden fatigue.

Still, it was a nice to finally be able to properly introduce himself for once. While the owl flew up, up and away, he hoped he'd be able to do it again someday.

The wizard had begun to stand just as the owl became a speck in the distance. "I better go too," he muttered to himself while glancing at the ruined letter. The plops of rainwater had become so insistent that they finally drove the reindeer and dancing figurines into hiding under the eaves.

A quick "evanesco" later and he too, took to the skies.

A/N: There is no Owl Post Office mentioned in canon in Diagon Alley but I imagine that one of the unlabeled shops probably is one.


	8. Chapter 8

**Update 5-30-13: A reviewer brought it to my attention that there might be some interest in adopting this fic/ this fic's plot. To any interested in adopting it: I completely welcome you to**

*** use as much (or few) of my plot ideas **as you like**  
><strong>

** *use as many, direct lines/paragraphs/quotes ect as you like**

**Just in case there is any confusion about this point: you are free to completely rewrite the beginning if you like, please don't feel like you have to go off of what I have.  
><strong>

**tldr version:** I wasn't made for the writer life but alas, I do not want to leave you kind people hanging forever so **I have posted my story outline/notes [about 18k words] on tumblr to give you some sense of closure (see below the full A/N for the link).** Thank you everyone for your kind words, advice, favs and alerts! This was honestly a great learning experience and I truly am grateful to every one of you. I wish you all the best!

**Full version:**

God the prose in here is downright mortifying at times, I'm glad some of you were still able to enjoy this fic despite the prose. When I wrote this, I knew I wasn't much of a writer but I felt it was a shame that few fics took advantage of Harry's link with Tom Riddle to teach him some degree of empathy [while also having Riddle keeping most of his key "Slytherin" traits] so I figured what the hell, I'll give it a shot.

Truly, thank you everyone for the reviews, favs and alerts thus far! I apologize that I haven't replied to everyone's reviews but I really am touched that all of you have sent me either kind words or given me constructive criticism when reviewing . Really, I'm downright shocked that I didn't get a flame for this at some point, especially with how bad the prose is at times. This has been a wonderful learning experience; I really can't thank all of you enough for being part of this experience.

There were quite a few reasons I ended up abandoning this fic:

*Hard drive crashed with all my original detailed outlines/notes (also literally happened a few days after I finished the following chapter and was proofreading it).

*Frustrated because I knew the fic was turning into crap but I was unsure about what to do, especially regarding my characterization of Harry. Despite having pages upon pages of quotes that I felt captured him best, to look at for guidance, he still felt terribly off no matter what I did.

*I also made things far more complicated that they had to be [was trying too hard to make it fit with the canon universe as much as possible, which was ruining the fun of it], to the point of stupidity on my part.

*Absolutely hated my OC characters because, like most people, I usually end up disliking OC characters in fan fiction stories. So I'm rather certain my bias resulted in me creating rather crappy OC characters.

* writing became a chore [since I was stuck on writing sections I felt "had" to be written rather than focusing on writing something fun for both the reader and myself].

*Beta reader wasn't able to beta read anymore

Nonetheless, I won't leave you guys hanging. I am posting a link to my outline/notes [about 18k words] under this note so you can have an idea of what I was kind of aiming for. **According to this site's rules, my story may be deleted if I post the story notes here so I have put them on tumblr instead.**

I apologize to all of you who had been looking forward to future chapters but I hope you're able to find at least one thing you enjoy in these detailed notes!

Feel free to borrow any ideas (as many as you want) from this fic if anything happens to interest you.

If you have questions, you can pm me though don't be surprised if I don't remember the answer to some questions.

Slim chance I might try to redo this idea one day but again, that's quite unlikely.

This varies from rather detailed scenes to very brief notes:

storynotesforhh. tumblr DOT COM SLASH post/51350735043/helpless-and-haunted-notes

or just go to storynotesforhh. tumblr DOT COM and the notes will be the only post on that blog  
><span>


End file.
